No More Learning

Who are you, my dear comrade?

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.



_A GRAVE. _


1.

As toilsome I wandered Virginia's woods,
To the music of rustling leaves kicked by my feet--for 'twas autumn--
I marked at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier;
Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat--easily all could I
understand;
The halt of a mid-day hour--when, Up! no time to lose! Yet this sign left
On a tablet scrawled and nailed on the tree by the grave,
_Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade_.


2.

Long, long I muse,--then on my way go wandering,
Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life.
Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt,--alone, or in the
crowded street,--
Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave, comes the inscription rude in
Virginia's woods,
_Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade_.



_THE DRESSER. _


1.

An old man bending, I come among new faces,
Years, looking backward, resuming, in answer to children,
"Come tell us, old man," (as from young men and maidens that love me, Years
hence) "of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances,
Of unsurpassed heroes--(was one side so brave?
the other was equally brave)
Now be witness again--paint the mightiest armies of earth;
Of those armies, so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us?
What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,
Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous, what deepest remains? "


2.

O maidens and young men I love, and that love me,
What you ask of my days, those the strangest and sudden your talking
recalls,
Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, covered with sweat and dust;
In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush
of successful charge;
Enter the captured works,. . . yet lo! like a swift-running river, they fade,
Pass, and are gone; they fade--I dwell not on soldiers' perils or soldiers'
joys;
(Both I remember well--many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was
content. )

But in silence, in dreams' projections,
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,
In nature's reverie sad, with hinged knees returning, I enter the
doors--(while for you up there, Whoever you are, follow me without
noise, and be of strong heart. )
Bearing the bandages, water, and sponge,
Straight and swift to my wounded I go,
Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in;
Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground;
Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roofed hospital;
To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I return;
To each and all, one after another, I draw near--not one do I miss;
An attendant follows, holding a tray--he carries a refuse-pail,
Soon to be filled with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and filled again.

I onward go, I stop,
With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;
I am firm with each--the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;
One turns to me his appealing eyes--poor boy! I never knew you,
Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you if that would
save you.

On, on I go--(open, doors of time! open, hospital doors! )
The crushed head I dress (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage away;)
The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, I
examine;
Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life
struggles hard;
Come, sweet death!