In Midnight Sleep
In midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally woundedof that indescribable
look;
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains;
Of skies, so beauteous after a stormand at night the moon so
unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather
the heaps,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
Long, long have they pass'dfaces and trenches and fields;
Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composureor away
from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the timeBut now of their forms at night,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
Poems by Walt Whitman
