In heaven, a pale uncertain star,
Through sullen vapour peeps,
On earth, extended wide and far,
In all the symmetry of war,
A weary army sleeps.
The heavy-hearted pall of night
Obliterates the lines,
Save where a dying camp-fire's light
Leaps up and flares, a moment bright,
Then once again declines.
Black, solemn peace is brooding low,
Peace, still unbroken, when
There comes a sound, an ebb and flow-
The steady breathing, deep and slow,
Of half-a-million men.
The pregnant dawn is drawing nigh,
The dawn of power or pain ;
But now, beneath the mournful sky,
In sleep's maternal arms they lie
Like children once again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem