A group of shadows; the moon’s red fleck;
A running noose and a man’s bared neck.
A word, a curse, and a shape that swings;
The lonely night and a bat’s black wings.
At the moon’s down-going, let it be
On the quarry hill with its one gnarled tree.
DEAD MAN’S RUN
He rode adown the autumn wood,
A man dark-eyed and brown;
A mountain girl before him stood
Clad in a homespun gown.
“To ride this road is death for you!
My father waits you there;
My father and my brother, too—
You know the oath they swear.”
He holds her by one berry-brown wrist,
And by one berry-brown hand;
And he hath laughed at her and kissed
Her cheek the sun hath tanned.
“The feud is to the death, sweetheart:
But forward must I ride.”—
“And if you ride to death, sweetheart,
My place is by your side.”
Low hath he laughed again and kissed
And helped her with his hand;
And they have galloped into the mist
That belts the autumn land.