Yon sound's neither sheep-bell nor bark, <br />They're running-they're running, Go hark! <br />The sport may be lost by a moment's delay; <br />So whip up the puppies and scurry away. <br />Dash down through the cover by dingle and dell, <br />There's a gate at the bottom-I know it full well; <br />And they're running-they're running, <br />Go hark! <br /> <br />They're running-they're running, Go hark! <br />One fence and we're out of the park; <br />Sit down in your saddles and race at the brook, <br />Then smash at the bullfinch; no time for a look; <br />Leave cravens and skirters to dangle behind; <br />He's away for the moors in the teeth of the wind, <br />And they're running-they're running, <br />Go hark! <br /> <br />They're running-they're running, Go hark! <br />Let them run on and run till it's dark! <br />Well with them we are, and well with them we'll be, <br />While there's wind in our horses and daylight to see: <br />Then shog along homeward, chat over the fight, <br />And hear in our dreams the sweet music all night <br />Of-They're running-they're running, <br />Go hark! <br /> <br /> <br />Eversley, 1856.<br /><br />Charles Kingsley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-find/
