A SIGHT IN CAMP IN THE DAY-BREAK
GREY AND DIM. 

1   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 woolen 
         blanket, 	
Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all. 	

2   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? 	

3   Then to the second I step—And who are you, my 
         child and darling? 	
Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming? 	

4   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.