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...TO CHLOE; AN APOLOGY FOR GOING INTO THE COUNTRY by JOHN WOLCOTT INTROSPECTION by GEORGE ARNOLD WERE IT ONLY NOW by A. W. BELL THE PURSUIT by HENRY BELLAMANN A ROSE by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN THIS LITTLE WORLD by HOMER HIGH CALHOUN TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. THE CURSE OF PROPERTY by EDWARD CARPENTER |