THE hunters, Epicydes, go Among the hills in frost and snow, And follow every hare, and mind Keenly the slot of every hind; But if they're told 'That beast is hit; Look! lying there', they'll none of it. And so my love is; for it gives Incessant chase to fugitives, But hurries heedless past the prize That ready for the taking lies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VICARIOUS ATONEMENT by RICHARD ALDINGTON HOW THEY GO ON by JAMES GALVIN LET ME NOT LOSES MY DREAM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TEARS AND KISSES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE HARD TIMES IN ELFLAND; A STORY OF CHRISTMAS EVE by SIDNEY LANIER |