At "The Fox Inn"

The tattered ears

The fox's grin

Mock the dead years

High on the wall

Above the cask

Laughs at you all

The fox's mask

The horn is still

The huntsman gone;

After the kill

The fox lives on

Death's date is there

In faded gold;

His eyes outstare

The dead of old

Beneath this roof

His eyes mistrust

The crumbled hoof

The hounds of dust

You will not call

I shall not stir

When the fangs fall

From that brown fur