Leaves of grass (1872) | ||
A Sight in Camp in the Day-break Grey and Dim.
1
A sight in camp in the day-break grey and dim,As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital tent,
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Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket,
Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.
2
Curious, I halt, and silent stand;Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first, just lift the blanket:
Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-grey'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you, my dear comrade?
3
Then to the second I step—And who are you, my child and darling?Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?
4
Then to the third—a face nor child, nor old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory;Young man, I think I know you—I think this face of yours is the face of the Christ himself;
Dead and divine, and brother of all, and here again he lies.
Leaves of grass (1872) | ||