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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=549961" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Death In The Forest</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">August 2: 1100</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where the greenwood is greenest<br>At gloaming of day,<br>Where the twelve-antler'd stag<br>Faces boldest at bay;<br>Where the solitude deepens,<br>Till almost you hear<br>The blood-beat of the heart<br>As the quarry slips near;<br>His comrades outridden<br>With scorn in the race,<br>The Red King is hallooing<br>His bounds to the chase.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What though the Wild Hunt<br>Like a whirlwind of hell<br>Yestereve ran the forest,<br>With baying and yell:--<br>In his cups the Red heathen<br>Mocks God to the face;<br>--'In the devil's name, shoot;<br>Tyrrell, ho!--to the chase!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">--Now with worms for his courtiers<br>He lies in the narrow<br>Cold couch of the chancel!<br>--But whence was the arrow?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dread vision of Serlo<br>That call'd him to die,<br>The weird sacrilege terror<br>Of sleep, have gone by.<br>The blood of young Richard<br>Cries on him in vain,<br>In the heart of the Lindwood<br>By arbalest slain.<br>And he plunges alone<br>In the Serpent-glade gloom,<br>As one whom the Furies<br>Hound headlong to doom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His sin goes before him,<br>The lust and the pride;<br>And the curses of England<br>Breathe hot at his side.<br>And the desecrate walls<br>Of the Evil-wood shrine<br>Lo, he passes--unheeding<br>Dark vision and sign:--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">--Now with worms for his courtiers<br>He lies in the narrow<br>Cold couch of the chancel:<br>--But whence was the arrow?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then a shudder of death<br>Flicker'd fast through the wood:--<br>And they found the Red King<br>Red-gilt in his blood.<br>What wells up in his throat?<br>Is it cursing, or prayer?<br>Was it Henry, or Tyrrell,<br>Or demon, who there<br>Has dyed the fell tyrant<br>Twice crimson in gore,<br>While the soul disincarnate<br>Hunts on to hell-door?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">--Ah! friendless in death!<br>Rude forest-hands fling<br>On the charcoaler's wain<br>What but now was the king!<br>And through the long Minster<br>The carcass they bear,<br>And huddle it down<br>Without priest, without prayer:--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now with worms for his courtiers<br>He lies in the narrow<br>Cold couch of the chancel:<br>--But whence was the arrow?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Turner+Palgrave">Francis Turner Palgrave</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=549961" data-title="Death In The Forest de Francis Turner Palgrave" data-description="August 2: 1100

Where the greenwood is greenest
At gloaming of day,
Where the twelve-antler'd stag
Faces boldest at bay;
Where the solitude deepens,
Till almost you hear
The blood-beat of the heart
As the quarry slips near;
His comrades outridden
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