Explore "Survivors" by Walt Whitman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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!