William Henry Ogilvie (21 August 1869 – 30 January 1963 / Kelso, Scotland)
‘ He's away ! '- With a quickened wild beat of the heart
Every horseman responds, riding hard for a start,
While back on the breeze with insistence is borne
The clamour of hounds and the call of the horn.
What crowding and crossing! What foaming and fret!
'Don't pull, you old duffer,' we'll get to them yet I '-
‘ Confound that slow tailor up there on the bay!
Does the fellow not know that a fox is away? '
Hark! Something like music! Ye gods, how they chime !
'Excuse me ! '_ ‘ Go on, then ! ' 'Oh, dash it, take time ! '
Don't cross me, confound you I '-' They're running some clip ! '-
'Look out for that pony ! '-' Way, there, for the Whip ! '
There's some one got kicked, and he's stopping to curse;
But we're clear of the crowd and it might have been worse.
The pick of the vale is the line he has gone.
‘ Gar'r away on to him ! Gar' away on !'
Comments about this poem (Gone Away by William Henry Ogilvie )
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