"He splintered my lance, and my blade he broke—
Now finish me, thou, 'neath the trysting oak!"
The shield of his foeman—a heart of white
In a bath of fire—shone in the night:
The plume of his foeman, as midnight black,
Blew, as he leapt on his horse's back:
Leapt and laughed as his sword he swung,
Then galloped away with a laugh on his tongue....
Who is she in the gray, wet dawn,
'Mid the forest shades like a shadow wan?