What of hunting, hunter bold? Brother, the watch was long and cold. What of the quarry ye went to kill? Brother, he crops the jungle still. Where is the power that made your pride? Brother, it ebbs from my flank and my side. Where is the haste that ye hurry by? Brother, I go to my lair - to die.
It's true it's somewhat archaic, however the rhythmic beat of the poem and the regular punctuation make it easier to type than a lot of text that is otherwise comparable.