"SEPTEMBER! Come out, 'tis September, The moon of the hunter is young," This style, as perhaps you remember, Stamped songs that our grandpapas sung: I can see the old boys, in their day-time's December, But ruddy as pippins and mighty of lung! I can see the green coats and white beavers, The guns (the old flint-lock affair), The cockers they used as retrievers To pick up their partridge or hare; No beaters to bungle, no bag-making fevers Destroy the old-fashioned repose of their air! I see them come down by the spinney, They measure and ram in their lead, Then start through the turnips, with "Prinny" And "Dash" working gaily ahead; If a covey is flushed I would wager a guinea They'll aim for a minute—but kill their birds dead! They go with their old-world precision, Their quaintness of garb and of gun, Till out of my day-dreaming vision They fade in the slant of the sun; Let's hope they are tramping o'er manors Elysian, With asphodel-cover to give 'em good fun! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DISMANTLED SHIP by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 30. AL-HADIL by EDWIN ARNOLD THE FOREIGN SAILOR by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE RED COUNTRY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 11 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |