Copyright (C) 1946 by the Estate of Mona Gould.

I Run With the Fox
By
Mona Gould

Toronto
The Macmillan Company
Of Canada Limited
1946

Copyright, Canada, 1946
by
The Macmillan Company of Canada Limited

All rights reserved - no part of this book may be reproduced in anyform without permission in writing from the publisher, except bya reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connectionwith a review written for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper.

Printed in Canada by
Le Soleil Limitee, Quebec.

Frontespiece:
For "Mook"

(Lt.-Col. Howard McTavish, Royal Canadian
Engineers, killed in action, Dieppe, 1942)

In proud and loving remembrance

This was my brother
At Dieppe,
Quietly a hero
Who gave his life
Like a gift,
Withholding nothing.

His youth… his Love…
His enjoyment of being alive…
His future, like a book
With half the pages still uncut —

This was my brother
At Dieppe —
The one who built me a doll house
When I was seven,
Complete to the last small picture frame,
Nothing forgotten.

He was awfully good at fixing things,
At stepping into the breach when he was needed.

That's what he did at Dieppe;
He was needed.
And even death must have been a little shamed
At has eagerness.

Mona Gould

Acknowledgement:

Acknowledgment is made to Saturday Night, Gossip, Chatelaine,Canadian Poetry Magazine, Canadian Home Journal and The Montrealer,in whose pages many of these poems have appeared.

Contents

I Run With the Fox

Memory Sharp

Gift Shop Window

Sire

Communion

Loud Silence

He Will Not Go Unremembered

Bagpipes Skirl in Heaven

How'd Ya Do!

Big Day

Prayer, In a Hospital

So Fair a Season

Spring Comes to a Small Town

For a Brown Dog

Right out of Pickwick

Man is a Lonely One

This Bitter Brew

It Was Tall in the Forest

Child … Waiting in a Drawing Room

Stars and the Dead

The Old Lady and the Cat

This Green

Weather-Vane

Noel

Immortality

Release

I Run With the Fox

Better to be proud and hunted
Than to ride with the Pink Coats.

Better than the smell of warm bloodafter a quick kill,Bitter and bright the scent of hidden fern.

Though the heart fail in the panting side
And the eye be clouded with straining
after the deep copse
Still is there thrill in flight —
Soft are oak leaves under the swift feet.

Sweet are the distant notes of the hunter's horn
And the hounds' baying,
Sweet to the trembling ears of the hidden
and hunted.

I run with the fox!

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