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...SIXTEEN MONTHS by CARL SANDBURG THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN by GEORGE DARLEY HERO AND LEANDER by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE THE PITY OF THE LEAVES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON WHOSE HAND RESTRAIN? by LINDA BARNES BRYAN THREE WOMEN: G -- by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |