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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535172" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Wound Dresser</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1 </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>AN old man bending, I come, among new faces,<br>Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children,<br>Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me;<br>(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war, <br>but soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself, <br>To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead <br>Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances,<br>Of unsurpass’d heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave <br>Now be witness again—paint the mightiest armies of earth;<br>Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us?<br>What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,<br>Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous, what deepest remains?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">2</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O maidens and young men I love, and that love me,<br>What you ask of my days, those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls;<br>Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover’d with sweat and dust;<br>In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge;<br>Enter the captur’d works.... yet lo! like a swift-running river, they fade;<br>Pass and are gone, they fade—I dwell not on soldiers’ perils or soldiers’ joys;<br>(Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But in silence, in dreams’ projections,<br>While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,<br>So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,<br>With hinged knees returning, I enter the doors—(while for you up there,<br>Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of strong heart.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">3</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,<br>Straight and swift to my wounded I go,<br>Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in;<br>Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground;<br>Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital;<br>To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I return;<br>To each and all, one after another, I draw near—not one do I miss;<br>An attendant follows, holding a tray—he carries a refuse pail,<br>Soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied and fill’d again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I onward go, I stop,<br>With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;<br>I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;<br>One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I never knew you,<br>Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On, on I go!—(open doors of time! open hospital doors!)<br>The crush’d head I dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage away <br>The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, I examine;<br>Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard;<br>(Come, sweet death! be persuaded, O beautiful death!<br>In mercy come quickly.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,<br>I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood;<br>Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv’d neck, and side-falling head;<br>His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody stump,<br>And has not yet look’d on it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep;<br>But a day or two more—for see, the frame all wasted already, and sinking,<br>And the yellow-blue countenance see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet wound,<br>Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive,<br>While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and pail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am faithful, I do not give out;<br>The fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,<br>These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">4 </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Thus in silence, in dreams’ projections,<br>Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;<br>The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,<br>I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so young;<br>Some suffer so much—I recall the experience sweet and sad;<br>(Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested,<br>Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Walt+Whitman">Walt Whitman</a><div class=q>
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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;
(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless w..."></div>
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