Читать книгу The Patriotic Poems of Walt Whitman - Уолт Уитмен - Страница 16

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.