BY THE BIVOUAC ’ S FITFUL FLAME By : Walt Whitman 1819-1892
By the bivouac ' s fitful flame , A procession winding around me , solemn and sweet and slow — but first I note , The tents of the sleeping army , the fields ' and woods ' dim outline , The darkness lit by spots of kindled fire , the silence , Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving , The shrubs and trees , ( as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me ,) While wind in procession thoughts , O tender and wondrous thoughts , Of life and death , of home and the past and loved , and of those that are far away ; A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground , By the bivouac ' s fitful flame .
62 PORTFOLIO MAGAZINE