Explore "The Dead Fox Hunter" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We found the little captain at the head; / His men lay well aligned. / We touched his hand -- stone-cold -- and he was dead, / And they, all dead behind, / Had never reached their goal, but they died well; / They charged in line, and in the same line fell.
The well-known rosy colours of his face / Were almost lost in grey. / We saw that, dying and in hopeless case, / For others' sake that day / He'd smothered all rebellious groans: in death / His fingers were tight clenched between his teeth.
For those who live uprightly and die true / Heaven has no bars or locks, / And serves all taste. Or what's for him to do / Up there, but hunt the fox? / Angelic choirs? No, Justice must provide / For one who rode straight and at hunting died.
So if Heaven had no Hunt before he came, / Why, it must find one now: / If any shirk and doubt they know the game, / There's one to teach them how: / And the whole host of Seraphim complete / Must jog in scarlet to his opening Meet.