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 Woollen Blanket, Grey And Heavy Blanket, Folding, Covering All. 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? Then To The Second I Step--And Who Are You, My Child And Darling? Who Are You, Sweet Boy, With Cheeks Yet Blooming? 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.