The Hunter's Moon rides high, <br />High o'er the close-cropped plain; <br />Across the desert sky <br />The herded clouds amain <br />Scamper tumultuously, <br />Chased by the hounding wind <br />That yelps behind. <br /> <br />The clamorous hunt is done, <br />Warm-housed the kennelled pack; <br />One huntsman rides alone <br />With dangling bridle slack; <br />He wakes a hollow tone, <br />Far echoing to his horn <br />In clefts forlorn. <br /> <br />The Hunter's Moon rides low, <br />Her course is nearly sped. <br />Where is the panting roe? <br />Where hath the wild deer fled? <br />Hunter and hunted now <br />Lie in oblivion deep: <br />Dead or asleep.<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hunter-s-moon/
