When the grass was closely mown, Walking on the lawn alone, In the turf a hole I found And hid a soldier underground.
Spring and daisies came apace; Grasses hide my hiding-place; Grasses run like a green sea O’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 hours And the springing of the flowers; And the fairy things that pass In the forests of the grass.
In the silence he has heard * Talking bee and ladybird, * And the butterfly has flown * O’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.