I am always carving arrows Or polishing my bow, Yet why I care for hunting I do not seem to know. For they are long and lonely, The ways of wood and hill, And it is wearisome to seek, And sorrowful to kill. But I am always hoping, I shall carry home some prize, Like a white-feathered squirrel, Or a fawn with blue eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHERRY BLOSSOMS BLOWING IN WEST BLOWING SNOW by JAMES GALVIN THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN SEPULCHRE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO EMILIE BIGELOW HAPGOOD - PHILANTHROPIST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BOOK OF STONES AND LILIES by AMY LOWELL SURFACES AND MASKS; 1 by CLARENCE MAJOR |