Leaves of Grass

  In midnight sleep of many a face of anguish,
  Of the look at first of the mortally wounded, (of 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 storm, and 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 have they pass’d, faces and trenches and fields,
  Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure, or away
      from the fallen,
  Onward I sped at the time—but now of their forms at night,
       I dream, I dream, I dream.