As we come over the hill
The rabit runs from the gorse
Shows tail and then stops still;
Thinks he is hidden, of course
Though heart pounds loudly
By immobitiy

I seen the rifle raised
I see the jewel of the sun
that over the muzzle blazed
move slowly up the gun
I hear the thud with the crach
He shudders and rolls back

Quick i run to the place
His eyes are dark and wild
The pitiful twisted grace
The stare of a sickbed child
The draggled fur torn wide
Where the grey gyts hang from his side

I twist the neak and he twitches
the head hangs limp and droll
Play in cropped furze and ditches
The miraculouse life of the soul
is spent---shall i be blamed
I walk back unashamed