'Will you walk a puppy?' the Hunt enquired Being sportsmen, we did as the Hunt desired And in early June there arrived a man With an innocent bundle of black and tan A fat little foxhound, bred to the game With a rollicking eye and a league-long name, And he played with a cork on the string; And walking a puppy was 'just the thing' But the days went by and the bundle grew, And broke the commandment and stole and slew And covered the lawn with a varied loot Of fowl and feather and bone and boot And we scratched in the garden a hundred holes, And wearied our bodies and damned our soles As we chased him over the plots and swore There was 'walking a puppy' for us no more! If he's half as good in a woodland ride As he is in tucking young ducks inside And half as keen on the scent of a fox As he is at finding my red silk socks, It is safe to bet when our hound goes back He will make a name in the ducal pack, For he'll empty a cover-of beef or brose, And he'll stick to the line-if it's hung with clothes! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALIFORNIA CITY LANDSCAPE by CARL SANDBURG LOVE AND A QUESTION by ROBERT FROST A FIESOLAN IDYL by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR BALLADE OF BLUE CHINA by ANDREW LANG THE FAMINE YEAR by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE |