Classic Poem

MARCH foxes are lovers
That glide to far coverts
To dally and play
Till the dawning of day,
Then slowly return
When the sun is on high
Like ghosts through the fern —
And give me, O give me March foxes, say I!

March foxes are fliers,
Lone hands and outliers,
Springing out of the pack
To a " Tally-ho back! "
And away like flash
With the beauties full cry
Ere you've gathered your lash —
And for cunning and running, March foxes, say I!

March foxes are roamers,
And therefore straight-homers;
The point that they choose
By bold rush or ruse
They 'll make; though Hell's gate
In the line of them lie
Their masks are held straight —
So give me, O give me March foxes, say I!

March foxes are dearer
For May coming nearer
And ending the fun
That seems scarcely begun
Ere it's over and past
Like a bird in the sky.
The best rides are the last,
And nothing can match the March foxes, say I!