I STOOD in the ride, and the glamour Of autumn was gold on the trees, While the far-away beaters' faint clamour Was borne on the whispering breeze, When the voices that came through the cover With the tapping of stick upon stock, Rang out with a roar—"Woodcock over! Cock forward! Mark cock!" Like a leaf of last year that is lifted When March is in maddest of moods, Through the tops of the beeches he drifted, A little brown ghost of the woods: Bombarded with passionate vigour, He lazily dodged down the line, And I knew, as I pressed on the trigger, I @3knew@1 he was mine! My pulses may fade and grow duller, My eyesight may weaken, but still I shall see the soft pinion's warm colour, The length of that insolent bill; And, till age leaves me withered and one-eyed At the ultimate end of my road, I shall hear the click-click of the gun I'd Omitted to load! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLAY BISON IN A CAVE by CLARENCE MAJOR STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 3. WASHINGTON, D.C. by CLARENCE MAJOR A REPUBLIC! by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PEACE ON EARTH by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HOUSES OF DREAMS by SARA TEASDALE HOLY POEMS: 2 by GEORGE BARKER THE MASTER'S TOUCH by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR |