Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

contents | previous | next

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,

View Page 283

Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out
there, untended lying,

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.

contents | previous | next