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 ab-domen;)
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, as ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks,
The unknown road still marching.