A Runnable Stag

When the pods went pop on the broom, green broom,

And apples began to be golden-skinned,

We harboured a stag in the Priory coomb,

And we feathered his trail up-wind, up-wind,

We feathered his trail up-wind —

A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,

A runnable stag, a kingly crop,

Brow, bay and tray and three on top,

A stag, a runnable stag.

Then the huntsman's horn rang yap, yap, yap,

And 'Forwards' we heard the harbourer shout;

But 'twas only a brocket that broke a gap

In the beechen underwood, driven out,

From the underwood antlered out

By warrant and might of the stag, the stag,

The runnable stag, whose lordly mind

Was bent on sleep, though beamed and tined

He stood, a runnable stag.