Poem by Walt Whitman

Leaves of Grass. 21. Drum-Taps. 13. 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 by spots of kindled fire, the silence,
Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving,
The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily
      watching me,)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous 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.

1. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 56. Old Age's Lambent Peaks
2. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 13. Bravo, Paris Exposition!
3. Leaves of Grass. 30. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 7. Assurances
4. Leaves of Grass. 30. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 18. Pensive and Faltering
5. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 8. An Ended Day

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