The Sleeper in the Valley
It is a green
hollow where a stream gurgles,
crazily catching silver rags of itself on the grasses;
where the sun shines from the proud mountain:
it is a little valley bubbling over with light.
A young soldier, open-mouthed, bare-headed,
with the nape of his neck bathed in cool blue cresses, sleeps;
he is stretched out on the grass, under the sky,
pale on his green bed where the light falls like rain.
His feet in the yellow flags, he lies sleeping.
Smiling as a sick child might smile, he is having a nap.
Cradle him warmly, Nature; he is cold.
No odour makes his nostrils quiver;
he sleeps in the sun, his hand on his breast, at peace.
There are two red holes in his right side.