It’s a green hollow, where a river is singing
Madly clinging to grass rags
Of silver; where the sun, from the proud mountain,
Is shinning: it’s a little valley bubbling with sunlight.

A young soldier, his mouth open, his head bare,
And the nape of his neck bathing in cool blue watercress,
Sleeping; he is stretched out on the grass, under the skies,
Pale in his green bed where the light falls like rain.

Feet in the gladiolas, he is sleeping. Smiling like
A sick child would smile, he takes a nap:
Nature, rock him warmly: he is cold.

Sweet scents don't tickle his nose anymore;
He sleeps in the sun, hand on the breast,
Peacefully. He has two red holes in his right side.