Walt Whitman

Leaves of Grass. 32. From Noon to Starry Night. 17. Old War-Dreams

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.