O English mother in the ruddy glow
Hugging your baby closer when outside
You see the silent, soft, and cruel snow
Falling again, and think what ills betide
Unshelter'd creatures, — your sad thoughts may go
Where War and Winter now two spectral wolves,
Hunt in the freezing vapor that involves
Those Asian peaks of ice and gulfs below.
Does this young soldier heed the snow that fills
His mouth and open eyes? or mind, in truth,
To-night, his mother's parting syllables?
His coat is red — but what of that? Keep ruth
For others; this is but an Afghan youth
Shot by the stranger on his native hills.
