A March In The Ranks Hard-Prest,
And The Road Unknown
by Walt Whitman (1819 � 1892) |
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A march in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown,
A route through a heavy wood with muffled steps in the
darkness,
Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the
sullen remnant retreating,
Till after midnight glimmer
upon us the lights of a dim-lighted
building,
We come
to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted
building,
'Tis a large old church at the crossing roads,
now an impromptu
hospital,
Entering but for a minute I
see a sight beyond all the pictures and
poems ever made,
Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving
candles and
lamps,
And by one great pitchy torch
stationary with wild red flame and
clouds of smoke,
By
these, crowds, groups of forms vaguely I see on the floor,
some
in the pews laid down,
At my feet more distinctly
a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of
bleeding to death (he
is shot in the abdomen),
I stanch the blood temporarily
(the youngster's face is white as a
lily),
Then before
I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene fain to absorb
it
all,
Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most
in obscurity,
some of them dead,
Surgeons operating,
attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, the
odour
of blood,
The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms, the
yard outside also
fill'd,
Some on the bare ground,
some on planks or stretchers, some in the
death-spasm
sweating,
An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's
shouted orders or calls,
The glisten of the little steel
instruments catching the glint of the
torches,
These I
resume as I chant, I see again the forms, I smell the odour,
Then hear outside the orders given, _Fall in, my men, fall
in_;
But first I bend to the dying lad, his eyes open, a
half-smile gives
he me,
Then the eyes close, calmly
close, and I speed forth to the darkness,
Resuming,
marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks,
The
unknown road still marching. |
By Walt Whitman (1819 � 1892)
Listed May 30, 2012 |
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