Ralph Hodgson

If you could bring her glories back! You gentle sirs who sift the dust And burrow in the mould and must

'Twould ring the bells of Heaven The wildest peal for years, If Parson lost his senses

See an old unhappy bull, Sick in soul and body both, Slouching in the undergrowth

'Come, try your skill, kind gentlemen, A penny for three tries!' Some threw and lost, some threw and won

I climbed a hill as light fell short, And rooks came home in scramble sort, And filled the trees and flapped and fought