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.