A March In The Ranks, Hard-prest
A
march
in
the
ranks
hard-prest,
and
the
road
unknown;
A
route
through
a
heavy
wood,
with
muffled
steps
in
the
darkness;
Our
army
foil'd
with
loss
severe,
and
the
sullen
remnant
retreating;
Till
after
midnight
glimmer
upon
us,
the
lights
of
a
dim-lighted
building;
We
come
to
an
open
space
in
the
woods,
and
halt
by
the
dim-lighted
building;
'Tis
a
large
old
church
at
the
crossing
roads—'tis
now
an
impromptu
hospital;
—Entering
but
for
a
minute,
I
see
a
sight
beyond
all
the
pictures
and
poems
ever
made:
Shadows
of
deepest,
deepest
black,
just
lit
by
moving
candles
and
lamps,
And
by
one
great
pitchy
torch,
stationary,
with
wild
red
flame,
and
clouds
of
smoke;
By
these,
crowds,
groups
of
forms,
vaguely
I
see,
on
the
floor,
some
in
the
pews
laid
down;
At
my
feet
more
distinctly,
a
soldier,
a
mere
lad,
in
danger
of
bleeding
to
death,
(he
is
shot
in
the
abdomen
I
staunch
the
blood
temporarily,
(the
youngster's
face
is
white
as
a
lily
Then
before
I
depart
I
sweep
my
eyes
o'er
the
scene,
fain
to
absorb
it
all;
Faces,
varieties,
postures
beyond
description,
most
in
obscurity,
some
of
them
dead;
Surgeons
operating,
attendants
holding
lights,
the
smell
of
ether,
the
odor
of
blood;
The
crowd,
O
the
crowd
of
the
bloody
forms
of
soldiers—the
yard
outside
also
fill'd;
Some
on
the
bare
ground,
some
on
planks
or
stretchers,
some
in
the
death-spasm
sweating;
An
occasional
scream
or
cry,
the
doctor's
shouted
orders
or
calls;
The
glisten
of
the
little
steel
instruments
catching
the
glint
of
the
torches;
These
I
resume
as
I
chant—I
see
again
the
forms,
I
smell
the
odor;
Then
hear
outside
the
orders
given,
Fall
in,
my
men,
Fall
in;
But
first
I
bend
to
the
dying
lad—his
eyes
open—a
half-smile
gives
he
me;
Then
the
eyes
close,
calmly
close,
and
I
speed
forth
to
the
darkness,
Resuming,
marching,
ever
in
darkness
marching,
on
in
the
ranks,
The
unknown
road
still
marching.
Walt Whitman
Walt Whitman, (born May 31, 1819, West Hills, Long Island, New York, U.S.—died March 26, 1892, Camden, New Jersey), American poet, journalist, and essayist whose verse collection Leaves of Grass, first published in 1855, is a landmark in the history of American literature. Walt Whitman’s poetry was innovative for its verse style and for the way it challenged traditional narratives. He championed the individual soul over social conventions, presenting himself as a rough and free spirit. His poetry has continued to resonate with new generations of Americans, and he is considered a symbol of American democracy.