A Sight In Camp


  A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey 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 woollen blanket,
  Grey 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-grey'd hair,
  and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
  Who are you, my dear comrade? 10

  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 of yours is the face
  of the Christ himself;
  Dead and divine, and brother of all, and here again he lies.

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Walt Whitman

Walter "Walt" Whitman was an American poet, essayist and journalist. more…

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"A Sight In Camp" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 24 Feb. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/37944/a-sight-in-camp>.

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