... 

III
 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 roof'd 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 fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied and fill'd 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.)

IV
 On, on I go! - (open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
 The crush'd 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! be persuaded, O beautiful death!
 In mercy come quickly.) 

 From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,  
 I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood;      
 Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv'd neck, and side-falling head;  
 His eyes are closed, his face is pale, (he dares not look on the bloody stump,
 And has not yet look'd on it.)  

 I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep;        
 But a day or two more - for see, the frame all wasted already, and sinking,       
 And the yellow-blue countenance see.    

 I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet wound,
 Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive, 
 While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and pail.  

 I am faithful, I do not give out;       
 The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,        
 These and more I dress with impassive hand - (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)

V
 Thus in silence, in dreams' projections,        
 Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;     
 The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,       
 I sit by the restless all the dark night - some are so young;     
 Some suffer so much - I recall the experience sweet and sad;
 (Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested,  
 Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)