I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his
     form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and
     carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in
     his grave, in his rude- dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field
     dim,

Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth
     responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as
     day brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his
     blanket,
And buried him where he fell.

1865 1867

A MARCH IN THE RANKS HARD-PREST, AND THE ROAD UNKNOWN

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
     dimlighted 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 odor 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
     odor,
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.

1865 1867

A SIGHT IN CAMP IN THE DAYBREAK GRAY AND DIM

A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the
     hospital tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there
     untended lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket,
Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious I halt and silent stand,
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first
     just lift the blanket;
Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-gray'd hair,
     and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step — and who are you my child and
     darling?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third — a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of
     beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man I think I know you — I think this face is the face
     of the Christ himself,
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.

1865 1867