5 Of The Best Hunting Poems

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5 of the best hunting poems to make my collection. Reading hunting poems is not for everyone I get that.

BUT… we all spend time in nature’s wilderness, we know the joy of a crisp clear morning, we know the excitement when a stick cracks, the thrill of sighting that big buck.

SO… how do we put these feelings into words? OR explain to others our love of hunting:-

One way is through hunting poems. I hope you enjoy them.

5 Inspirational Hunting Poems

Best Hunting Poems

Hunting Song: Richard Hovey

Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor,

When the horn is on the hill?

With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,

And a ten-tined buck to kill!

Before the sun goes down, goes down,

We shall slay the buck of ten;

And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha’e venison,

When we come home again.

Let him that loves his ease, his ease,

Keep close and house him fair;

He’ll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger

And the joy of the open air.

But he that loves the hills, the hills,

Let him come out to-day!

For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying,

And the hunt’s up, and away!

Related Article: How to Know the Best Place to Shoot a Hog

Home Is The Sailor A.E.Houseman

Home Is The Sailor: A.E.Houseman

Home is the sailor, home from sea:

Her far-borne canvas furled

The ship pours shining on the quay

The plunder of the world.

Home is the hunter from the hill:

Fast in the boundless snare

All flesh lies taken at his will

And every fowl of air.

‘Tis evening on the moorland free,

The starlit wave is still:

Home is the sailor from the sea,

The hunter from the hill.

A Hunters Prayer: S Elliott

“We pray our sights be straight and our aim be true

We pray for no pain to the game we pursue

We thank you, Lord for this land

We thank you for the sights from our stands

We pray for safety one and all

We pray we may return in the fall.”

Deer Hunting Time Is Here Again Kathleen West

Related Article: 5 Mental Strength Exercises for Hunters

Deer Hunting Time Is Here Again: Kathleen West

​​​​​Deer hunting time is here againAnd many hunters take to the woods

After months of planning with family and friends

They gather in common brotherhood

It’s a freedom that fills the soul of a man

With the peace of God’s nature all around

Lessons that have been taught since time began

And lifelong memories and friendships are found

Hunting is taught by tradition still yet

Knowledge passed on from man to man

And you’ll learn things that you’ll never forget

And respect nature more, our wildlife, and our land

So all you hunters enjoy this time

May you be skilled and have lots of luck

The Hunter Of The Prairies William Cullen Bryant

The Hunter Of The Prairies: William Cullen Bryant

AY, this is freedom!—these pure skies

Were never stained with village smoke:

The fragrant wind, that through them flies,

Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.

Here, with my rifle and my steed,

And her who left the world for me,

I plant me, where the red deer feed

In the green desert—and am free.

For here the fair savannas know

No barriers in the bloomy grass;

Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,

Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.

In pastures, measureless as air,

The bison is my noble game;

The bounding elk, whose antlers tear

The branches, falls before my aim.

Mine are the river-fowl that scream

From the long stripe of waving sedge;

The bear, that marks my weapon’s gleam,

Hides vainly in the forest’s edge;

In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;

The brinded catamount, that lies

High in the boughs to watch his prey,

Even in the act of springing, dies.

With what free growth the elm and plane

Fling their huge arms across my way,

Gray, old, and cumbered with a train

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!

Free stray the lucid streams, and find

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;

Free spring the flowers that scent the wind

Where never scythe has swept the glades.

Alone the Fire, when frostwinds sere

The heavy herbage of the ground,

Gathers his annual harvest here,

With roaring like the battle’s sound,

And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,

And smoke-streams gushing up the sky:

I meet the flames with flames again,

And at my door they cower and die.

Here, from dim woods, the aged past

Speaks solemnly; and I behold

The boundless future in the vast

And lonely river, seaward rolled.

Who feeds its founts with rain and dew?

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,

And trains the bordering vines, whose blue

Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?

Broad are these streams—my steed obeys,

Plunges, and bears me through the tide.

Wide are these woods—I thread the maze

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.

I hunt, till day’s last glimmer dies

O’er woody vale and grassy height;

And kind the voice and glad the eyes,

That welcome my return at night.

I hope you enjoyed this short collection of what I consider to be some of the best hunting poems. I feel they capture our spirit of the hunt, our love of the wilderness and the excitement of the chase.

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