Underneath the windy mountain walls <br /> Forth we rode, an eager band, <br />By the surges and the verges and the gorges, <br /> Till the night was on the land— <br /> On the hazy, mazy land! <br />Far away the bounding prey <br /> Leapt across the ruts and logs, <br />But we galloped, galloped, galloped on, <br /> Till we heard the yapping of the dogs— <br /> The yapping and the yelping of the dogs. <br />Oh, it was a madly merry day <br /> We shall not so soon forget, <br />And the edges and the ledges and the ridges <br /> Haunt us with their echoes yet— <br /> Echoes, echoes, echoes yet! <br />While the moon is on the hill <br /> Gleaming through the streaming fogs, <br /> Don’t you hear the yapping of the dogs— <br /> The yapping and the yelping of the dogs?<br /><br />Henry Kendall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/after-the-hunt/
