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-bye 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.

Sherlock Holmes
Classic Literature Library

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