The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. July
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 1840 (Petworth House) – 1922 (United Kingdom)
GOODWOOD
To the high breezes of the Goodwood Down
London has fled, and there awhile forgets
Its weariness of limb on lawns new--mown
And in green shadows all its wars and frets.
Thither we too will bring our calumets
In sign of peace restored o'er fashion slain,
Weaning our souls from folly with small bets
Of gloves and crowns with laughing ringwomen.
The sport is fair, luck fair, and Nature's face
Fairest of all. We neither make nor mar
A fortune here. Yet we were rich with less
Than this week's pleasure conquered from the year.
I would not for a million not have seen
Fred Archer finish upon Guinevere.
Hark! They are off again, a half mile spin,
Four of the dozen backed and bound to win.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 39 sec read
- 119 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABBXBA XCXXXCDD |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 689 |
Words | 130 |
Stanzas | 2 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8 |
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"The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. July" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 13 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/38834/the-idler’s-calendar.--twelve-sonnets-for-the-months.--july>.
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