A Sight In Camp Poem by Walt Whitman
A Sight In Camp
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.
Now I understand it is not the done thing to find fault with famous names, however, i find this poem below average for a number of reasons. The use of archaic sentence constructions at odd intervals when the remainder of the poem is contemporaneous smacks of pretentiousness at worst and laziness at best. I really didn't like this one. Sorry Walt.
So sad and so beautiful a poem! I still wonder how the poet was involved? Was it during the Civil War? I guess so. This poem is telling us much about war is really: ugly even for the noblest cause!
I thought the poem had a lot of meaning to it because he talks about how there were all kinds of men fighting, young and old, and it talks about his experiences during the war.
I like this poem because it is very sentimental. I read about Whitman's life and how he helped the wounded soldiers, but never have read anything he had written about his experiences. It is neat to read his feelings for the soldiers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 8:13:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
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. '