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Le Dormeur du Val
C'est un trou de verdure, où chante une rivière
Accrochant follement aux herbes des haillons
D'argent; où le soleil, de la montagne fière,
Luit: c'est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.
Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tête nue,
Et la nuque baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort; il est étendu dans l'herbe, sous la nue,
Pâle dans son lit vert où la lumière pleut.
Les pieds dans les glaïeuls, il dort. Souriant comme
Sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme:
Nature, berce-le chaudement: il a froid.
Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine;
Il dort dans le soleil, la main sur la poitrine
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au côté droit.
It's a green valley, where a river sings
Hanging here and there pretty silver tatters
On the grass; where the sun, on the proud mountain,
Shines: It's a little vale sparkling with light
A young soldier, his mouth opened, bare-headed,
And the nape of his neck in the cool blue cress
Sleeps; he lays there in the grass, under the clouds,
Pale in his green bed where light's pouring down.
His feet in gladioli, he sleeps. Smiling as
An ill child would smile, he's taking a nap:
Nature, cuddle him warmly; he's cold.
The perfumes don't make his nostril quiver;
He sleeps in the sun, his hand on his breast
Tranquil. He has two red holes in his right side.
