I met a Centaur in the wood
One drowsy, summer-dappled day
As on a fallen stump I sat
With pipe in hand and thinking
In my sadness on that which was,
And is, and might have been;
All lost in rueful reverie.
 
He started, stamped and whirled about
On flashing hooves. Checked, pawed the ground When no
aggresive move I made,
Then stood a-quiver in the banded sun,
Regarding me with needle eye
From under wreathed and tangled brow
While all the world held breath.

At length he spoke with thick, outlandish tongue Which I, in no surprise, could understand Though such harsh sounds had not been heard Since days when all the world was young. "Where Maenads? Sileni? Where Satyrs gone?" Then sly, "Seen Lapiths? Good for fight!" He flexed his gleaming golden hide.

" Gone." I said in leaden tone'
" Gone these many weary years."
He stamped again. "I find!" he snapped.
A green bough slapped the empty spot
Where once he stood and stood no more.
I sighed and turned and climbed the hill, Cutting the shining
turf with my own bright hooves.
by  Coifi