Stationed in your sickbed, Soldier,
What do you dream but peace -
From Texas, our skull grazed desert,
Absent as a friend's lost face.
You watch the wanderers by the fountain
Scatter their looks like gold;
See one, the absolute of longing,
Turn towards you as a child.
O happier than hero, lover
Illustrious in arms,
How are the plesant years upon you,
Which wear no uniforms.
But dreams like dawns are daily broken
By this inspecting sun:
Awake, you count the wounded minutes,
And the long war goes on.