THE WOMAN IN THE FOREST
The thunder of the snorting swine, Enormous in the gloam,Rending among all roots that clingAnd the wild horses whinnyingWere the night's noises when the King, Shouldering his harp, went home.
With eyes of owl and feet of fox, Full of all thoughts he went;He marked the tilt of the pagan camp,The paling of pine, the sentries' tramp,And the one great stolen altar-lamp Over Guthrum in his tent.
By scrub and thorn in Ethandune That night the foe had lain;Whence ran across the heather greyThe old stones of a Roman way;And in a wood not far away The pale road split in twain.
He marked the wood and the cloven ways With an old captain's eycs,
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