Bivouac On A Mountain Side Walt Whitman

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