 | Leaves of grass. |  |
BY THE BIVOUAC'S FITFUL FLAME.">
By the bivouac's fitful flame,
A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow; — but first I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,
The darkness, lit spots of kindled fire — the silence:
Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving;
The shrubs and trees, (as I left my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me;)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wond'rous thoughts,
Of life and death — of home and the past and loved, and of those that are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
By the bivouac's fitful flame.
A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow; — but first I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,
The darkness, lit spots of kindled fire — the silence:
Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving;
The shrubs and trees, (as I left my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me;)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wond'rous thoughts,
Of life and death — of home and the past and loved, and of those that are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
By the bivouac's fitful flame.
17a
| Leaves of grass. | |