A HUNTING MORNING
by: Arthur Conan Doyle
(1859-1930)
- UT 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.
"A Hunting Morning" is
reprinted from Songs of Action. A. Conan Doyle. London:
John Murray, 1916. |
MORE POEMS BY ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE |
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