Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escapt away, Sits downe to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguiled of their pray: So, after long pursuit and vaine assay, When I all weary had the chace forsooke, The gentle deare returnd the selfe-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke. There she, beholding me with mylder looke, Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide: Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke, And with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde. Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so wyld, So goodly wonne, with her owne will beguyld. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE A POEM AGAINST THE WAR IN VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH POSSUM SONG (A WARNING) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON CARPACCIO'S PICTURE: THE DREAM OF ST. URSALA; SONNET by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: GOTTLIEB GERALD by EDGAR LEE MASTERS KILLED IN ACTION by ISAAC ROSENBERG UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE by CARL SANDBURG |