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 I heard a clash, and a cry, 
And a horseman fleeing the wood.
The moon hid in a cloud.
Deep in shadow I stood.
‘Ugly work!’ thought I, Holding my breath.
‘Men must be cruel and proud, ‘Jousting for death’.
With gusty glimmering shone The moon; and the wind blew colder.
A man went over the hill, Bent to his horse’s shoulder.
‘Time for me to be gone’.
Darkly I fled.
Owls in the wood were shrill, And the moon sank red.

Poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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