The Hare

     

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 o' the green;  

And I whispered“Whsst! witch-hare”,  

Away like a ghostie o'er the field  

She fled, and left the moonlight there.

                          Walter de la Mare