The Artilleryman's Vision - Walt Whitman

While my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long,

And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes,

And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the

breath of my infant,

There in the room as I wake from sleep this vision presses upon me;

The engagement opens there and then in fantasy unreal,

The skirmishers begin, they crawl cautiously ahead, I hear the

irregular snap! snap!

I hear the sounds of the different missiles, the short t-h-t! t-h-t!

of the rifle-balls,

I see the shells exploding leaving small white clouds, I hear the

great shells shrieking as they pass,

The grape like the hum and whirr of wind through the trees,

(tumultuous now the contest rages,)

All the scenes at the batteries rise in detail before me again,

The crashing and smoking, the pride of the men in their pieces,

The chief-gunner ranges and sights his piece and selects a fuse of

the right time,

After firing I see him lean aside and look eagerly off to note the effect;

Done