THE Hunter's Moon rides high, High o'er the close-cropped plain; Across the desert sky The herded clouds amain Scamper tumultuously, Chased by the hounding wind That yelps behind. The clamourous hunt is done, Warm-housed the kennelled pack; One huntsman rides alone With dangling bridle slack; He wakes a hollow tone, Far echoing to his horn In clefts forlorn. The Hunter's Moon rides low, Her course in nearly sped. Where is the panting roe? Where hath the wild deer fled? Hunter and hunted now Lie in oblivion deep: Dead or asleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IRISH RAPPAREES; A PEASANT BALLAD OF 1691 by CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY A DEAD HARVEST (IN KENSINGTON GARDENS) by ALICE MEYNELL MY NATIVE LAND by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE LAST MAN: ROSILY DYING by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES AD ASTRA PER ASPERA! by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP by EMILY JANE BRONTE OCTOBER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON EPITAPH ON AN INFANT (2) by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 14. THE DEATH OF LOVE by GEORGE CRABBE |