Harley Matthews
We see no terror in your eyes.
They say that sleeping you were found;
Now we with bayonets guard you round.
Night’s shadow up the hillside creeps,
But you still watch the lighted skies,
Although the sentinel that sleeps
The next dawn dies.
Ah, the remorse is gone that grew
To think of what my comrade said:
“Give this to her when I am dead” –
A heart-shaped thing of little worth
That held her picture for his view,
But he was killed and in the earth
Before I knew.
It was last night. My watch I kept,
The stars just overhead shone dim.
Nought moved upon the hills’ far rim.
But in the hollows shadows seethed,
And as I watched, towards me crept.
I listened: deep my comrades breathed
Where near they slept.
Below men moved innumerable –
Fancy! and yet there was a doubt.
I closed my eyes to shut them out,
And for relief drew deeper breath,
Across my lids Sleep laid his spell;
I flung it off – to sleep was death,
I knew too well.
There came a pleasant breath of air,
Cool-wafted from the stars it seemed.
I looked: now they all brightly gleamed,
Then long I watched, alert, clear-eyed.
No sleeper stirred behind me there…
Yet then of some one at my side
I grew aware.
I stared: for he stood there, though dead,
Yet looking, that seemed nothing strange;
About his form there was no change
To see within that little light.
“‘Tis I. And yet you heard no tread.
A careless watch you keep to-night,”
He laughing said.
His voice no huskier had grown,
Then while I watched, he sat and told
Me of his love just as of old.
“Give this to her,” I heard him say.
I looked, and found I was alone.
Within my hand the locket lay
Cold as a stone.
I have it here to prove he lies
Who says that sleeping I was found.
I fear not though you guard me round.
Night’s shadow up the hillside creeps,
But I can watch the lighted skies,
Although the sentinel that sleeps
The next dawn dies.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem explores the fragile boundary between life and death, consciousness and the unconscious, and duty and failure, all set within the tension of war. It revolves around a soldier who wrestles with the guilt of a past promise and the blurred edges of reality while on sentry duty. The central focus is the accusation of his failure to stay awake—a failure that in war means life or death—and the strange, almost ghostly experience he has during the night.
The opening lines set a solemn and ominous tone. The soldier insists he’s been wrongly accused of falling asleep on duty, even though he knows the consequences: “The next dawn dies.” His insistence has an almost desperate edge, as though he’s not just arguing with his comrades but with himself. The guarded body, the creeping shadows, and the watching skies create a tense and eerie atmosphere, grounding the reader in the precarious balance between the living and the dead.
The poem unfolds in a mix of vivid memory and hallucination. The soldier recalls a comrade who entrusted him with a locket and a message for a loved one—a task he failed to complete in time. The guilt from this failure seems to haunt him, manifesting as the appearance of his fallen comrade during the watch. The description of the comrade’s presence is unsettling but understated: “He stood there, though dead, yet looking, that seemed nothing strange.” This blending of the ordinary and the surreal gives the poem a dreamlike quality, emphasizing the psychological strain of the soldier’s experience.
What stands out is the soldier’s inner conflict. He’s wide awake, hyper-aware of the stars and the shadows, yet he’s overcome by the fear of losing his grip on reality. The comrade’s presence feels real to him, and when the locket appears in his hand, cold as a stone, it becomes an anchor to his story—a physical object to justify his claim. But it’s left ambiguous whether this encounter actually happened or was a fabrication of his guilt-ridden mind.
The refrain-like repetition of “Night’s shadow up the hillside creeps” ties the poem together, emphasizing the passage of time and the inevitability of consequences. The final stanza returns to the soldier’s defiance. He claims he’s not afraid, even though death awaits. His focus remains fixed on the stars and skies, a stubborn assertion of his vigilance, though it’s unclear if anyone believes him—or if he believes himself.
The poem captures the psychological toll of war, where fear, guilt, and exhaustion intertwine, and where even the strongest sense of reality can be called into question. Its haunting tone leaves the reader with the same unease as the soldier himself, stuck between knowing and doubting, and unable to fully grasp where the truth lies.