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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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THE DRESSER.
1
1 AN old man bending, I come, among new faces, |
Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to chil-
dren,
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Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens
that love me;
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Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions,
these chances,
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Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the
other was equally brave;)
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Now be witness again—paint the mightiest armies of
earth;
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Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to
tell us?
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What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious
panics,
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Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous,
what deepest remains?
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2
2 O maidens and young men I love, and that love me, |
What you ask of my days, those the strangest and
sudden your talking recalls;
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Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover'd with
sweat and dust;
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In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly
shout in the rush of successful charge;
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Enter the captur'd works….yet lo! like a swift
running river, they fade;
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Pass and are gone, they fade—I dwell not on soldiers'
perils or soldiers' joys;
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(Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the
joys, yet I was content.)
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3 But in silence, in dreams' projections, |
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes
on,
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So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the
imprints off the sand,
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In nature's reverie sad, with hinged knees returning, I
enter the doors—(while for you up there,
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Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of
strong heart.)
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3
4 Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, |
Straight and swift to my wounded I go, |
Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought
in;
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Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the
ground;
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Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof'd
hospital;
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To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I
return;
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To each and all, one after another, I draw near—not
one do I miss;
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An attendant follows, holding a tray—he carries a refuse
pail,
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Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied,
and fill'd again.
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With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds; |
I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoid-
able;
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One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I
never knew you,
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Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for
you, if that would save you.)
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4
6 On, on I go—(open, doors of time! open, hospital
doors!)
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The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not
the bandage away;)
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The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through
and through, I examine;
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Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the
eye, yet life struggles hard;
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(Come, sweet death! be persuaded, O beautiful death! |
7 From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand, |
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the
matter and blood;
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Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv'd neck,
and side-falling head;
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His eyes are closed, his face is pale, (he dares not look
on the bloody stump,
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And has not yet look'd on it.) |
8 I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep; |
But a day or two more—for see, the frame all wasted
already, and sinking,
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And the yellow-blue countenance see. |
9 I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bul-
let wound,
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Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene,
so sickening, so offensive,
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While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding
the tray and pail.
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10 I am faithful, I do not give out; |
The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdo-
men;
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These and more I dress with impassive hand—(yet deep
in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)
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5
11 Thus in silence, in dreams' projections, |
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the
hospitals;
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The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand, |
I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so
young;
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Some suffer so much—I recall the experience sweet and
sad;
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(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have
cross'd and rested,
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Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.) |
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