I heard a clash, and a cry, 
And a horseman fleeing the wood. 
The moon hid in a cloud. 
Deep in shadow I stood. 
`Ugly work!? thought I,
Holding my breath. 
`Men must be cruel and proud, 
`Jousting for death?. 

With gusty glimmering shone 
The moon; and the wind blew colder.
A man went over the hill, 
Bent to his horse?s shoulder. 
`Time for me to be gone?... 
Darkly I fled. 
Owls in the wood were shrill,
And the moon sank red.