The Soldier's Tent

Across the mountains the mist hath drawn

A cov'ring of bridal white;

The plains afar make lament, and mourn

That the flutt'ring veil of the mist-wreaths born

Hath hidden the mountains from sight.

The soldier lay smiling peacefully

Asleep in his tent on the sward,

The moon crept in and said: "Look at me,

A glance from thy sweetheart am I, for thee!"

But he answered: "I have my sword."

Then the rustling wind drew softly near,

Played round him with whispers light:

"I am the sighs of thy mother dear,

The sighs of thy mother am I, dost hear?"

But he answered: "I have the fight."

Then night sank down from the dark'ning sky

Round the sleeper, and murmured: "Rest,

Thy sweetheart's veil o'er thy face doth lie!"

But he answered: "No need of it have I,

For the banner doth cover me best."

By his tent the river, clear and wide,

Rolled onward its silver flood,

And said: "I am water, the cleansing tide

More blessèd than aught in the world beside."

But he answered: "I have my blood."

Then Sleep drew near to his tent, and low

She whispered with soothing breath:

"I am Sleep, the healer of ev'ry woe,

The dearest treasure of man below."

But the soldier replied: "I have Death."

Across the mountains the mist hath drawn

A cov'ring of bridal white;

The plains afar make lament, and mourn

That the flutt'ring veil of the mist-wreaths born

Hath hidden the mountains from sight.