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.