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Nimrod
who on a hunt
would not be wooed by lions
I never could have thought
there had been upon earth
a man so little curious
the world is all cards and ash
Dikter om ämnet: hunt
Dikter om ämnet ”hunt” på Poets.by.
Without Sorrow
Stiff was the stringed bow as it was laid to rest
Upon the pile of ferns after a long hard test
The quiver empty and the arrow about
The beast had fought, yes it was stout
A hunger had settled upon my community
Til it was left only to me to do what I could see
To make it through the winter
A puff of smoke from my mouth stood starkly in the air
Reminded me of last night's frost and the snow in my daughter's hair
It's not a woman's place to hunt for her families table
A husband lost to a war so unstable
The blood stood bright against the white of the snow
Warm almost comforting against the sudden cold
I cut and I skinned right straight to the bone
The Proletariat
Bidding his final goodbyes
Tears in his wife's eyes
The scrawny farmhand
Leaves for the kill
Sons to be fed
Daughter to be wed
The scrawny farmhand
Leaves for the kill
Swift as the wind he rides
Far from where he resides
The scrawny farmhand
Leaves for the kill
The stench of death fills the air
Close to the creature's lair
The scrawny farmhand
Moves for the kill
Reynardine
If by chance you look for me
Perhaps you'll not me find,
For I'll be in my castle--
Enquire for Reynardine!
Sun and dark he courted me--
His eyes were red as wine:
He took me for his leman,
Did my sweet Reynardine.
Sun and dark the gay horn blows,
The beagles run like wind:
They know not where he harbours,
The fairy Reynardine.
If by chance you look for me
Perhaps you'll not me find,
For I'll be in my castle--
Enquire for Reynardine!
Finished To-Night
I have unleashed my hands, like hounds,
And I must not call them back;
They are off with virile bounds
On the hidden quarry's track.
Though there come rain or sun —
Fleet and lean and white.
They will follow the scent until they run
The quarry to earth, and the quarry is night.
A Fairy Hunt
Who would hear the fairy horn
Calling all the hounds of Finn
Must be in a lark's nest born
When the moon is very thin.
I who have the gift can hear
Hounds and horn and tally ho,
And the tongue of Bran as clear
As Christmas bells across the snow.
And beside my secret place
Hurries by the fairy fox,
With the moonrise on his face,
Up and down the mossy rocks.
Then the music of a horn
And the flash of scarlet men,
Thick as poppies in the corn
All across the dusky glen.
Madman's Song
Better to see your cheek grown hollow,
Better to see your temple worn,
Than to forget to follow, follow,
After the sound of a silver horn.
Better to bind your brow with willow
And follow, follow until you die,
Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow,
Nor lift it up when the hunt goes by.
Better to see your cheek grown sallow
And your hair grown gray, so soon, so soon,
Than to forget to hallo, hallo,
After the milk-white hounds of the moon.
Bert Kessler
I winged my bird,
Though he flew toward the setting sun;
But just as the shot rang out, he soared
Up and up through the splinters of golden light,
Till he turned right over, feathers ruffled,
With some of the down of him floating near,
And fell like a plummet into the grass.
I tramped about, parting the tangles,
Till I saw a splash of blood on a stump,
And the quail lying close to the rotten roots.
I reached my hand, but saw no brier,
But something pricked and stung and numbed it.
And then, in a second, I spied the rattler—
The shutters wide in his yellow eyes,
The head of him arched, sunk back in the rings of him,
A circle of filth, the color of ashes,
Red-headed Restaurant Cashier
Shake back your hair, O red-headed girl.
Let go your laughter and keep your two proud freckles
on your chin.
Somewhere is a man looking for a red-headed girl and
some day maybe he will look into your eyes for a
restaurant cashier and find a lover, maybe.
Around and around go ten thousand men hunting a
red headed girl with two freckles on her chin.
I have seen them hunting, hunting.
Shake back your hair; let go your laughter.
Circles of Doors
I LOVE him, I love him, ran the patter of her lips
And she formed his name on her tongue and sang
And she sent him word she loved him so much,
So much, and death was nothing ; work, art, home,
All was nothing if her love for him was not first
Of all ; the patter of her lips ran, I love him,
I love him ; and he knew the doors that opened
Into doors and more doors, no end of doors,
And full length mirrors doubling and tripling
The apparitions of doors : circling corridors of
Looking glasses and doors, some with knobs, some
With no knobs, some opening slow to a heavy push,
And some jumping open at a touch and a hello.
And he knew if he so wished he could follow her