Pig

Go, stalk the red deer o'er the heather,
Ride, follow the fox if you can!
But, for pleasure and profit together,
Allow me the hunting of Man,
The chase of the Human, the search for the Soul
To its ruin, the hunting of Man.

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

The Song Of The Dead

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

Frankie's Trade

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

McAndrew's Hymn

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

Loot

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Fox-Hunting

When Samson set my brush afire
To spoil the Timnites barley,
I made my point for Leicestershire
And left Philistia early.
Through Gath and Rankesborough Gorse I fled,
And took the Coplow Road, sir!
And was a Gentleman in Red
When all the Quorn wore woad, sir!

When Rome lay massed on Hadrian's Wall,
And nothing much was doing,
Her bored Centurions heard my call
O' nights when I went wooing.
They raised a pack-they ran it well
(For I was there to run 'em)
From Aesica to Carter Fell,
And down North Tyne to Hunnum.

When William, landed hot for blood,
And Harold's hosts were smitten,
I lay at earth in Battle Wood
While Domesday Book was written.
Whatever harm he did to man,
I owe him pure affection;
For in his righteous rei...

Rudyard

Tiger - Tiger!

What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
Where is the power that made your pride?
Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side.
Where is the haste that ye hurry by?
Brother, I go to my lair to die!

Rudyard

Hunting-Song Of The Seeonee Pack

As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled,
Once, twice and again!
And a doe leaped up, and a doe leaped up
From the pond in the wood where the wild deer sup.
This I, scouting alone, beheld,
Once, twice, and again!

As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled,
Once, twice and again!
And a wolf stole back, and a wolf stole back
To carry the word to the waiting Pack,
And we sought and we found and we bayed on his track
Once, twice and again!

As the dawn was breaking the Wolf-Pack yelled
Once, twice and again!
Feet in the jungle that leave no mark!
Eyes that can see in the dark, the dark!
Tongue, give tongue to it! Hark! O Hark!
Once, twice and again!

His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buffalo's pride,
Be clea...

Rudyard

The Hunters Of Men

Have ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn;
Hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match,
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch.
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, the hunting of men!
Gay luck to our hunters! how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!
The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,
Just screening the politic statesman behind;
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer,
The d...

John Greenleaf Whittier

The Stag-Hunt.

The morning is breaking--
    The stag is away!
The hounds and the hunters
    The signal obey!
The horn bids the echoes
    Awake as we go,
And nature is jocund
    With hark!--tally-ho!
            Hark away!
                Tally-ho!

Hark forward!--Tantivy!--
    The woodland resounds
With shouts of the sportsmen
    To cheer on the hounds!
The horse and his rider,
    The deer and his foe,
Dash by to the music
    Of hark!--tally-ho!
            (He's at bay!)
                Tally-ho!

George Pope Morris

The Man Hunt

The woods stretch deep to the mountain side,
And the brush is wild where a man may hide.

They have brought the bloodhounds up again
To the roadside rock where they found the slain.

They have brought the bloodhounds up, and they
Have taken the trail to the mountain way.

Three times they circled the trail and crossed;
And thrice they found it and thrice they lost.

Now straight through the trees and the underbrush
They follow the scent through the forest's hush.

And their deep-mouthed bay is a pulse of fear
In the heart of the wood that the man must hear.

The man who crouches among the trees
From the stern-faced men who follow these.

A huddle of rocks that the ooze has mossed,
And the trail of the hunted again is lost.

Madison Julius Cawein