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. |
