How Solemn, as One by One

How solemn, as one by one,

As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty—as the men file by where I stand;

As the faces, the masks appear—as I glance at the faces, studying the masks;

(As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are;)

How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to you;

I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul:

O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,

Nor the bayonet stab what you really are:

      …The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best,

Waiting secure and content, which the bullet could never kill,

Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!