It was not meant for human eyes,
That combat on the shabby
Of clods and trampled turf that
Somewhere beneath the sodden
For eye of toad or adder to catch.
And having seen it I
The crested animal in his pride,
Arrayed in all the royal
Which hide the claws he well can
To tear the heart out of the side.
Body of leopard, eagle's
And whetted beak, and lion's mane,
And frost-grey hedge of feathers
Behind — he seemed of all things bred.
I shall not see his like again.
As for his enemy there came inA soft round beast as brown as clay;
All rent and patched his wretched skin;
A battered bag he might have been,
Some old used thing to throw away.
Yet he awaited face to
The furious beast and the swift attack.
Soon over and done. That was no
Or time for chivalry or for grace.
The fury had him on his back.
And two small paws like hands flew
To right and left as the trees stood by.
One would have said beyond a
That was the very end of the bout,
But that the creature would not die.
For ere the death-stroke he was gone,
Writhed, whirled, into his den,
Safe somehow there. The fight was done,
And he had lost who had all but won.
But oh his deadly fury then.
A while the place lay blank, forlorn,
Drowsing as in relief from pain.
The cricket chirped, the grating
Stirred, and a little sound was born.
The champions took their posts again.
And all began. The stealthy
Slashed out and in. Could nothing
These rags and tatters from the claw?
Nothing. And yet I never sawA beast so helpless and so brave.
And now, while the trees stand watching,
The unequal battle rages there.
The killing beast that cannot
Swells and swells in his fury
You'd almost think it was despair.
