  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. |
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