LEON
Tutor’d in war by beasts, in gentleness
By the small woodland creatures, and in hate
By all he knew of men. Meanwhile he grew
Goodly of face and stature, strong and brave—
A fair lord, but he had a maimed side.
Once, in the season when the charmed woods
Dream and awake not, and the dank blue mist,
Swinging by ghostly hands twixt bole and bole,
Doth print them round with lichens and wet moss:
One heavy noon, beside a mildew’d pool,
Moody he sat, and wish’d, he scarce knew what.
All on a sudden, sharp and shrill rang out
A clamour, “Help! O help!” And straight be-stirr’d
By headlong instinct, as a wounded hare
Not stays, but runneth fleetly to its home,
So limping Leon ran; and found a Queen
With two that would have done her knight to death.
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