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. 10