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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. November
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ACROSS COUNTRY

 November`s here. Once more the pink we don,
 And on old Centaur, at the coverside,
 Sit changing pleasant greetings one by one
 With friend and neighbour. Half the county`s pride
 Is here to--day. Squire, parson, peer, bestride
 Their stoutest nags, impatient to be gone.
 Here, schoolboys on their earliest ponies ride,
 And village lads on asses, not out--done.

 But hark! That sounds like music. Ay, by God!
 He`s off across the fallow. ``No, sirs, no;
 ``Not yet a minute, just another rod!
 ``Then let him have it. Ho, there, tallyho!``
 Now that`s worth seeing! Look! He`s topped the wall,
 Leaving his whole field pounded in a row.
 A first flight place to--day was worth a fall.
 So forward each, and Heaven for us all!
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