Gulls, wheeling overhead,
'Light on the crags,
The long, hazy day is dead,
And noon drags.
A sleeper lies on the beach
On an arm bent
Out of the waters reach
Smiling content.
A soft wind rustles his hair
On the hot sand.
Does he dream of a cool home, there,
In a strange land?
His eyes shine on the green South
On a spring day:
But the blood trickles from his mouth
In Suvla Bay.
