I looked up from my writing,
        And gave a start to see,
As if rapt in my inditing,
        The moon's full gaze on me.

Her meditative misty head
        Was spectral in its air,
And I involuntarily said,
        "What are you doing there?"

"Oh, I've been scanning pond and hole
        And waterway hereabout
For the body of one with a sunken soul
        Who has put his life-light out.

"Did you hear his frenzied tattle?
        It was sorrow for his son
Who is slain in brutish battle,
        Though he has injured none.

"And now I am curious to look
        Into the blinkered mind
Of one who wants to write a book
        In a world of such a kind."

Her temper overwrought me,
        And I edged to shun her view,
For I felt assured she thought me
        One who should drown him too.