What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
Where is the power that made your pride?
Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side.
Where is the haste that ye hurry by?
Brother, I go to my lair to die!

by Rudyard Kipling

Comments (3)

An attractive dialogue poem, with a tragic ending-the hunter's imminent death. This is better than Kipling's long, rambling poems.
Lion poem