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.