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 spectre-wolves, 
Hunt in the freezing vapour 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? 
Ha! is't a red coat?--Merely blood. Keep ruth 
For others; this is but an Afghan youth 
Shot by the stranger on his native hills.