The Dumb Soldier
When the grass was closely mown,Walking on the lawn alone,In the turf a hole I foundAnd hid a soldier underground.
Spring and daisies came apace;Grasses hid my hiding-place;Grasses run like a green seaO'er the lawn up to my knee.
Under grass alone he lies,Looking up with leaden eyes,Scarlet coat and pointed gun,To the stars and to the sun.
When the grass is ripe like grain,When the scythe is stoned again,When the lawn is shaven clear,Then my hole shall reappear.
I shall find him, never fear,I shall find my grenadier;But, for all that's gone and come,I shall find my soldier dumb.
He has lived, a little thing,In the grassy woods of spring;Done, if he could tell me true,Just as I should like to do.
He has seen the starry hoursAnd the springing of the flowers;And the fairy things that passIn the forests of the grass.
In the silence he has heardTalking bee and ladybird,And the butterfly has flownO'er him as he lay alone.
Not a word will he disclose,Not a word of all he knows.I must lay him on the shelf,And make up the tale myself.
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