I see them, stretched upon the burning sands,
Clutching the air with lacerated hands;
From underneath the mutilated heap,
The wounded, with great difficulty, creep;
Dragging a helpless arm, or shattered limb,
With reeling brain and sight confused and dim,
They grope, they crawl, or limp with painful tread;
Their uniforms no longer blue, but red;
And pinioned underneath the ghastly pile,
I hear them struggle for release the while;