Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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,

Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens
that love me;

Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions,
these chances,

Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the
other was equally brave;)

Now be witness again—paint the mightiest armies of
earth;

Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to
tell us?

What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious
panics,

Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous,
what deepest remains?

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;

Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover'd with
sweat and dust;

In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly
shout in the rush of successful charge;

Enter the captur'd works….yet lo! like a swift
running river, they fade;

Pass and are gone, they fade—I dwell not on soldiers'
perils or soldiers' joys;

(Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the
joys, yet I was content.)

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,

In nature's reverie sad, with hinged knees returning, I
enter the doors—(while for you up there,

Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of
strong heart.)

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;

Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the
ground;

Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof'd
hospital;

To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I
return;

To each and all, one after another, I draw near—not
one do I miss;

An attendant follows, holding a tray—he carries a refuse
pail,

Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied,
and fill'd again.

⁵ I onward go, I stop,

With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;

I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoid-
able;

One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I
never knew you,

Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for
you, if that would save you.)

4

⁶ On, on I go—(open, doors of time! open, hospital
doors!)

The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not
the bandage away;)

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;

(Come, sweet death! be persuaded, O beautiful death!

In mercy come quickly.)

⁷ From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,

I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the
matter and blood;

Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv'd neck,
and side-falling head;

His eyes are closed, his face is pale, (he dares not look
on the bloody stump,

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,

And the yellow-blue countenance see.

⁹ I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bul-
let wound,

Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene,
so sickening, so offensive,

While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding
the tray and pail.

¹⁰ I am faithful, I do not give out;

The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdo-
men;

These and more I dress with impassive hand—(yet deep
in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)

5

¹¹ Thus in silence, in dreams' projections,

Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the
hospitals;

The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,

I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so
young;

Some suffer so much—I recall the experience sweet and
sad;

(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have
cross'd and rested,

Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

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