Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HUNT, by ADOLF VON HATZFELD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE HUNT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The hunt is up
Last Line: The brown wood lay in agony begun.
Subject(s): Hunting; Hunters


The hunt is up. The hue and cry grows red.
The woods are withering, stiff in gold brocade.
Throbbing with our mad mood,
as though we had snuffed blood, and sought its trace,
we have burst forth into the chase.
The hunt is up. The hue and cry burns red.
We ride a boar to death.
We are the masters. We in our crimson coats,
with our white-banded, shining boots.
The boar has his few minutes yet to live,
by but the grace we give
once more the creature may immerse himself in sun,
till, for our wanton fun,
for the wild game of the hounds,
he knows his deathy wounds,
and in his panic pain
at last he lays his listless body down.

The hunt is run. The red haloo has faded into dun.
And a brown death descends on the wood's brown.
But one cannot forget: the shuddering sweat
that broke out of the creature's pallid fear,
that was your own death-sweat.
The creature's blood wherewith the ground was smeared,
the foam of his fierce mood,
that was your blood.
The creature's final moment, when the brood
of dogs was at his throat, biting his breath,
that was your death.
You too are but the plaything demons use.
They toss your sick heart and your dizzy brain.
They mock your fear, your piteous prayers refuse,
till, for their wanton fun,
in panic pain
at last you lay your listless body down.

The hunt was run. The red haloo had veiled itself in dun.
The brown wood lay in agony begun.





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