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Monday, November 14, 2011

A Hunting Morning by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

A HUNTING MORNING
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There's winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.

Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o'er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the kill.

Then lead round the mare,
For it's time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.






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10 comments:

  1. Why did they used to hunt foxes, anyway? Nothing particularly useful to gain from them. Oh well, good poem.

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  2. i'm allergic to their domesticated cousins, but I still love those wild/African big cats!

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  3. I never knew he wrote poetry! :/ I like that--it's sort of nursery-rhyme-ish.

    xo

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  4. That antelope gif is too funny XD

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  5. A thrilling read. Those cheetahs are matchless in speed and strength. Those poor animals don't stand a chance. Thanks.

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  6. while i feel bad for the preys i wish i could go there and see that stuff by myself

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  7. on your piece @dversepoets my comment (if i could comment) was: hot beat...i like the rhythm through and neat progression, solace to soldier...nice

    nice piece here as well...

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