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    by Arthur Conan Doyle
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    From Songs of Action (1898).

    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.
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