It was a winter's morning, The Kaiser's sport was done; From far and near the driven deer Had faced the Royal 'gun', And all around, in grim array, Five hundred rotting corpses lay. From near and far, to King and Tsar The startled herds had fled; And many a stag had swelled the bag, And many a hind lay dead. Such things must be and will in short, After a famous hour of sport! It was the German Emperor Who slew five hundred deer; But what he killed so many for Is not completely clear. But all the journalists report That 'twas a famous morning's sport. From left and right, in furious flight, The stags to slaughter came; Each beast, deceased, by death increased This holocaust of game. And, after all (you may retort), It was a famous morning's sport. Let sportsmen raise their hymns of praise To those who made such bags, Who in an hour evinced the pow'r To slay five hundred stags, While I repeat (how dare you snort?) That 'twas a famous morning's sport! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE METROPOLITAN TOWER by SARA TEASDALE MADAGASCAR: AUBADE by WILLIAM DAVENANT A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES PALINODE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MEADOW-SAFFRON by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD by BERNARD BARTON ON THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER, EMPEROR OF THE RUSSIAS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |