Now the great black fox was swift and sly and it seemed to fleer at me.
I would wake in fright, by the stark moon light and hear its evil glee.
And into my dream its eyes would beam, and its shadow I would see.

It sniffed and ran from the ptarmigan I had poisoned to excess.
Unharmed it sped from my wrathful lead, twas as if I shot by guess.
But it came by night in the stark moonlight to mock at my wieriness.

I hunted it up where the mountains hunched, like the vertebrate of the world.
I hunted it down to the death-still pits where the avalanche is hurled.
From the glooms to the sacerdotal snows, where the carded clouds are curled

From the vastitudes where the earth protrudes from the clouds like a sea upshoaled
I held its track till it lead me back to the land I had left of old
To the land I had looted many moons, and I was weary and sick and cold

I was sick, soul sick, of the futile chase and then and there I swore
That the foul fox fiend might scatheless go, for I would hunt no more
Then I rubbed my eyes, and in my vast surprise, it stood by my cabin door

From "Ballad of the Black Fox Skin" by Robert Service.