Adam Lindsay Gordon
A Hunting Song
Here's a health to every sportsman, be he stableman or lord,
If his heart be true, I care not what his pocket may afford;
And may he ever pleasantly each gallant sport pursue,
If he takes his liquor fairly, and his fences fairly, too.
He cares not for the bubbles of Fortune's fickle tide,
Who like Bendigo can battle, and like Olliver can ride.
He laughs at those who caution, at those who chide he'll frown,
As he clears a five-foot paling, or he knocks a peeler down.
The dull, cold world may blame us, boys! but what care we the while,
If coral lips will cheer us, and bright eyes on us smile?
For beauty's fond caresses can most tenderly repay
The weariness and trouble of many an anxious day.
Then fill your glass, and drain it, too, with all your heart and soul,
To the best of sports — The Fox-hunt, The Fair Ones, and The Bowl,
To a stout heart in adversity through every ill to steer,
And when Fortune smiles a score of friends like those around us here
Adam Lindsay Gordon's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Hunting Song by Adam Lindsay Gordon )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1923 - 1998)
(8 December 65 BC – 27 November 8 BC)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Edgar Albert Guest
(20 August 1881 - 5 August 1959)
(27 July 1870 – 16 July 1953)
- I Am the Only Being Whose Doom, Emily Jane Brontë
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Loving is What Christmas is All About, Dorsey Baker
- A Smile To Remember, Charles Bukowski
- Good Riddance, Electric Lady
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- And Death Shall Have No Dominion, Dylan Thomas
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne