Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

(1859-1930 / Edinburgh)

Master - Poem by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.

'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.

Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.

'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.

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Comments about Master by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  • (10/27/2016 8:44:00 AM)


    I wonder if this is the true story of a hunting accident he may have witnessed. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, September 7, 2010



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