Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SEPTEMBER: FEAST OF ST. PARTRIDGE, by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The only saint in all our calendar Last Line: In glorious death, the fierce delight of kings. Subject(s): Hunting; Partridge; Hunters | ||||||||
THE only saint in all our calendar Is good St. Partridge. 'Tis his feast to-day, The happiest day of all a happy year, And heralded as never yet was May. The dawn has found us marshalled for the fray, Striding the close-shorn stubbles ranked in line, With lust of battle and with lust of play Made glorious drunk as men are drunk with wine. There go the coveys, forward birds and strong, Bound for the mangold where they wheel and stop. Now, steady, men, and bring the left along. A fortune waits us in each turnip-top. With a wild shriek, and then a whirr of wings, The covey rises. Brace and brace they drop, Joining the dead ranks of forgotten things In glorious death, the fierce delight of kings. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAMENT OF QUARRY by LEONIE ADAMS KILLDEER by KENNETH SLADE ALLING THE YOUNG FOWLER THAT MISTOOK HIS GAME by PHILIP AYRES A POEM ABOUT THE HOUNDS AND THE HARES by LISEL MUELLER ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 50 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 51 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 110. THE OASIS OF SIDI KHALED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |
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