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Light-hearted 'midst the dewy lanes I fared Unto the sea, whose jocund gleam I caught Between the slim boles, when I heard the clink Of naked weapons, then a sudden thrust Sickening to hear, and then a stifled groan; And pressing forward I beheld the sight That seared itself for ever on my brain My kinsman, Ser Ranieri, on the turf, Fallen upon his side, his bright young head Among the pine-spurs, and his cheek pressed close Unto the moist, chill sod: his fingers clutched A handful of loose weeds and grass and earth, Uprooted in his anguish as he fell, And slowly from his heart the thick stream flowed, Fouling the green, leaving the fair, sweet face Ghastly, transparent, with blue, stony eyes Staring in blankness on that other one Who triumphed over him.
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