Tom Moody
William Henry Ogilvie 1869 (Scotland) – 1963
Death had beckoned with grisly hand
To the finest Whip in hunting-land.
‘ My time is short,’ Tom Moody said,
‘ Master, when I am done and dead,
Lay me at Barrow beneath the yew
In the dear old shire we have hunted through.
Let six earth-stoppers carry me there
With slow step and heads bare.
Bring the old horse that I used to ride,
With my whip and boots to his saddle tied.
Fasten the brush in his forehead-band
Of the last dog-fox we brought to hand.
And let a couple of old hounds come,
Fitting mourners to follow me home.
Then, when you've laid me safe down there,
Give three view-holloas will shake the air,
And you'll know, if I do not lift my head,
There is no mistake-Tom Moody's dead!'
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 41 sec read
- 120 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AABBCCDDEEAAFGDDBB |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 709 |
Words | 137 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 18 |
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"Tom Moody" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 10 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/40815/tom-moody>.
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