Explore "A Hunting Morning" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Put the saddle on the mare, / For the wet winds blow; / There's winter in the air, / And autumn all below. / For the red leaves are flying / And the red bracken dying, / And the red fox lying / Where the oziers grow.
Put the bridle on the mare, / For my blood runs chill; / And my heart, it is there, / On the heather-tufted hill, / With the gray skies o'er us, / And the long-drawn chorus / Of a running pack before us / From the find to the kill.
Then lead round the mare, / For it's time that we began, / And away with thought and care, / Save to live and be a man, / While the keen air is blowing, / And the huntsman holloing, / And the black mare going / As the black mare can.