by David Roderick


Bluebells rang their sudden prescence,
Wafting o'er meadow leas;
Sullen prescence of their fellows.
Fragrance thus upon the breeze.

In the halls of the ancients,
Hung there portraits at their ease.
In the valley of the desert,
Sent in thus upon their knees.

As I wallow in the pasture.
I shall walk upon the moor.
More the fellow, moor the pasture.
Idle talk unto the moor.

Idle fellow, idle pasture:
Bracken bush yet of the gorse,
Scenes of talent, ides of merit
Beating pheasants, by the score.

As I trundle; as I dawdle,
Loping through the year forlorn.
Keeling thus from heel to heather.
Listing day; eve' shall dawn.