IN midnight sleep of many a face of anguish,Of the look at first of the mortally wounded, (of that indescribable look,)Of the dead on their backs with arms extended wide,I dream, I dream, I dream.Of scenes of Nature, fields and mountains,Of skies so beauteous after a storm, and at night the moon so unearthly bright,Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather the heaps,I dream, I dream, I dream.Long have they pass'd, faces and trenches and fields,Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure, or away from the fallen,Onward I sped at the time—but now of their forms at night,I dream, I dream, I dream.