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1
AN old man bending I come among new faces, | |
| Years looking backward resuming in answer to children, | |
| Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me, | |
| (Arous’d and angry, I’d thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war, | |
| But soon my fingers fail’d me, my face droop’d and I resign’d myself, | 5 |
| To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;) | |
| Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances, | |
| Of unsurpass’d heroes (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;) | |
| Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth, | |
| Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us? | 10 |
| What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics, | |
| Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains? | |
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2
O maidens and young men I love and that love me, | |
| What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls, | |
| Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover’d with sweat and dust, | 15 |
| In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge, | |
| Enter the captur’d works—yet lo, like a swift-running river they fade, | |
| Pass and are gone they fade—I dwell not on soldiers’ perils or soldiers’ joys | |
| (Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content). | |
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| But in silence, in dreams’ projections, | 20 |
| While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on, | |
| So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand, | |
| With hinged knees returning I enter the doors (while for you up there, | |
| Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart). | |
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| Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, | 25 |
| Straight and swift to my wounded I go, | |
| Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in, | |
| Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground, | |
| Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital, | |
| To the long rows of cots up and down each side I return, | 30 |
| To each and all one after another I draw near, not one do I miss, | |
| An attendant follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail, | |
| Soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill’d again. | |
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| I onward go, I stop, | |
| With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds, | 35 |
| I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable, | |
| One turns to me his appealing eyes—poor boy! I never knew you, | |
| Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you. | |
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3
On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!) | |
| The crush’d head I dress (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away), | 40 |
| The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through I examine, | |
| Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard | |
| (Come sweet death! be persuaded O beautiful death! | |
| In mercy come quickly). | |
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| From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand, | 45 |
| I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood, | |
| Back on his pillow the soldier bends with curv’d neck and side-falling head, | |
| His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody stump, | |
| And has not yet look’d on it. | |
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| I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep, | 50 |
| But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking, | |
| And the yellow-blue countenance see. | |
| I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet-wound, | |
| Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive, | |
| While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and pail. | 55 |
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| I am faithful, I do not give out, | |
| The fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen, | |
| These and more I dress with impassive hand (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame). | |
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4
Thus in silence in dreams’ projections, | |
| Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals, | 60 |
| The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand, | |
| I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young, | |
| Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad, | |
| (Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested, | |
| Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips). | 65 |
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