All night we have starved—not a crust, not a crum
And lain awake thinking of breakfast to come;
If we grunt all together, perhaps we’ll get some.
The Hunter
I spring from my bed like one from the dead,
I leap from my lair like the fawn;
The still stars are flashing their fires overhead,
And lo the white light of the dawn.
I rise from my dreams to plunge in the streams;
I run in the rainbows of dew;