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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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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,
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Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended
lying,
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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;
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Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-gray'd
hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
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Who are you my dear comrade? |
Then to the second I step—and who are you my child and
darling?
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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;
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Young man I think I know you—I think this face is the face
of the Christ himself,
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Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies. |
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