The solitary huntsman

No coat of pink doth wear,

But midnight black from cap to spur

Upon his midnight mare.

He drones a tuneless jingle

In lieu of tally-ho:

“I’ll catch a fox

And put him in a box

And never let him go.”

The solitary huntsman,

He follows silent hounds.

No horn proclaims his joyless sport,

And never a hoofbeat sounds.

His hundred hounds, his thousands,

Their master’s will they know:

To catch a fox

And put him in a box

And never let him go.

For all the fox’s doubling

They track him to his den.

The chase may fill a morning,

Or threescore years and ten.

The huntsman never sated

Screaks to his saddlebow,

“I’ll catch another fox

And put him in a box

And never let him go.”