THE HARE

By Walter de la Mare

In the black furrow of a field

I saw an old witch-hare this night;

And she cocked a lissome ear,

And she eyed the moon so bright,

And she nibbled of the green;

And I whispered “Wh-s-st! witch-hare,”

Away like a ghostie o'er the field

She fled, and left the moonlight there.