Bivouac on a Mountain side
Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

I see before me now a traveling army halting,
Below a fertile valley spread,
with barns and the orchards of summer,
Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain,
abrupt, in places rising high,
Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars,
with tall shapes dingily seen,
The numerous camp-fires scatter’d near and far, some away up on the mountain,
The shadowy forms of men and horses,
looming, large-sized, flickering,
And over all the sky — the sky! far, far out of reach, studded, breaking out, the eternal Stars