So, travelling still, the twilight caught me: And as I stumbled on, I muttered: "A deal of luck the hare has brought me! The wind and I must spend together A hungry night among the heather. If I’d her here..." And as I uttered, I tripped, and heard a frightened squeal; And dropped my hands in time to feel The hare just bolting ’twixt my feet. She slipped my clutch: and I stood there And cursed that devil-littered hare, That left me stranded in the dark In that wide waste of quaggy peat Beneath black night without a spark: When, looking up, I saw a flare Upon a far-off hill, and said: "By God, the heather is afire! It’s mischief at this time of year..." And then, as one bright flame shot higher, And booths and vans stood out quite clear; My wits came back into my head: And I remembered Brough Hill Fair. And, as I stumbled towards the glare, I knew the sudden kindling meant The Fair was over for the day; And all the cattle-folk away And gipsy-folk and tinkers now Were lighting supper-fires without Each caravan and booth and tent. And, as I climbed the stiff hill-brow, I quite forgot my lucky hare. I’d something else to think about: For well I knew there’s broken meat For empty bellies after fair-time; And looked to have a royal rare time With something rich and prime to eat: And then to lie and toast my feet All night beside the biggest fire.