Note from the author: Brunanburh. These are the words of a Saxon shaken by a victory attained by the Kings of Wessex over a coalition of Scots, Danes, and Britons, commanded by Anlaf (Olaf) of Ireland. In this poem, there are echoes of a contemporary ode that was so admirably translated by Tennyson.

Nobody at your side.
Last night I killed a man in battle.
He was lively and tall, from the pure stock of Anlaf.
The sword pierced his chest, a little to the left.
He rolled on the ground and was a thing,
a thing for crows.
You will wait for him in vain, woman I've never known.
The ships fleeing over the yellow sea
will not return him.
At the hour of dawn,
your hand will look for his in dreams.
Your bed is cold.
Last night I killed a man in Brunanburh.