Sir Arthur Conan Doyle



                   Master


                   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-by 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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