The Sleeper in the Valley/Winter 1942


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The Sleeper In The Valley It’s a green hollow where a river sings Madly catching white tatters in the grass. Where the sun on the proud mountain rings: It’s a little valley, foaming like light in a glass. A conscript, open-mouthed, his bare head And bare neck bathed in the cool blue cress, Sleeps: stretched out, under the sky, on grass, Pale where the light rains down on his green bed. Feet in the yellow flags, he sleeps. Smiling As a sick child might smile, he’s dozing. Nature, rock him warmly: he is cold. The scents no longer make his nostrils twitch: He sleeps in the sunlight, one hand on his chest, Tranquil. In his right side, there are two red holes. Arthur Rimbaud October 1870