Posted on Thursday, November 26, 2020
In: Hunting Poetry
Written by: William Henry Ogilvie
Death had beckoned with grisly hand To the finest Whip in hunting-land. ‘ My time is short,’ Tom Moody said, ‘ Master, when I am done and dead, Lay me at Barrow beneath the yew In the dear old shire we have hunted through. Let six earth-stoppers carry me there With slow step and heads...