Sports poems/ page 4 of 24 /
He said.-Again, with Majesty refin'd,
Up-wing'd to Realms of Bliss, th'Ætherial Mind.
Elegy for an Old Boxer by James McKean: American Life in Poetry #80 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2
One of poetry's traditional public services is the presentation of elegies in honor of the dead. Here James McKean remembers a colorful friend and neighbor.
The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow,
Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast;
The chilling cold lets every thing to grow,
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast.
Curs'd be that love and mought continue short,
Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport.
He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds,
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds,
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all,
To starve and shiver in a naked stall,
And day by day sat brooding in his chair,
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare.
On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun
'Tis blithe to hear the sportsman's gun,