In Midnight Sleep

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, 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.