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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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View Page 277
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View Page 277
By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame.
| By the bivouac's fitful flame, |
|
A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and
slow;—but first I note, |
|
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods'
dim outline, |
| The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire—the silence; |
| Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving; |
|
The shrubs and trees, (as I left my eyes they seem to
be stealthily watching me;) |
|
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and
wondrous thoughts, |
|
Of life and death—of home and the past and loved,
and of those that are far away; |
|
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the
ground, |
| By the bivouac's fitful flame. |