We know where deepest lies the snow, And where the frost-winds keenest blow, O'er every mountain's brow; We long have known and learnt to bear The wandering outlaw's toil and care, But where we late were hunted, there Our foes are hunted now. We have their princely homes, and they To our wild haunts are chased away, Dark woods, and desert caves. And we can range from hill to hill, And chase our vanquished victors still; Small respite will they find until They slumber in their graves. But I would rather be the hare, That crouching in its sheltered lair Must start at every sound; That forced from cornfields waving wide Is driven to seek the bare hillside, Or in the tangled copse to hide, Than be the hunter's hound. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN WIRELESS by CARL SANDBURG SONNET by ALICE RUTH MOORE DUNBAR-NELSON A SOLILOQUY; OCCASIONED BY THE CHIRPING OF A GRASSHOPPER by WALTER HARTE DUNCAN WEIR by ALEXANDER ANDERSON RED TREASURE by CAROLYN AUSTIN A CHARACTER OF JOHN MORT by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TWELVE SONNETS: 1. THY SWEETNESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |