I heard a soldier sing some trifle Out in the sun-dried veldt alone: He lay and cleaned his grimy rifle Idly, behind a stone. "If after death, love, comes a waking, And in their camp so dark and still The men of dust hear bugles, breaking Their halt upon the hill, "To me the slow, the silver pealing That then the last high trumpet pours Shall softer than the dawn come stealing, For, with its call, comes yours!" What grief of love had he to stifle, Basking so idly by his stone, That grimy soldier with his rifle Out in the veldt, alone? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COTTON CLUB by CLARENCE MAJOR THE SHPEHERD'S HOUR by PAUL VERLAINE THE MULBERRY GARDEN: CHILD AND MAIDEN by CHARLES SEDLEY TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER CHORUS OF THE CLOUD-MAIDEN: ANTISTROPHE, FR. THE CLOUDS by ARISTOPHANES |