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A VERDANT hollow where a brook sings loud,
And madly hangs the grass with silver rags,
Whereon the sun shines, of the mountain proud,
A little frothing coomb that drunken brags.


A soldier, young, with open mouth, bare head,
Bathing his nape in fresh blue cress, remains
Stretched out beneath the skies in grassy bed,
Pale sleeping where the light upon him rains.


His feet are in the rushes. And his smile
Is like a feverish child's. He sleeps awhile.
Cradle him warmly, brook, on thy cold bank.


His nostrils stir not at the scents around.
One hand is on his breast. He sleeps profound.
And there are two red holes in his right flank.