The Sleeper in the Valley

It is a green hollow where a river sings,
Madly catching silver rags upon the grasses;
Where the sun, from the proud mountain,
Shines: it is a little valley foaming with light.

A young soldier, his mouth open, his head bare,
And the nape of his neck bathed in cool blue cress,
Sleeps; he is stretched out on the grass, under the sky,
Pale in his green bed where the light rains down.