THE OLD SQUIRE
Reading edition
Squire England has grown old: Too stiff to ride to hounds, Too blind to shoot his coverts, He takes up his great stick And potters about the grounds. The meadows and the pond, The fig-tree on the south wall, The plantation of young spruces, The yew hedge twelve foot thick— He stares at them all; And grumbling as he goes, He stops here and there To spud up a dandelion. His mind is full of doubt, For a stranger is his heir. House, meadows, walks and trees, Although his sight be dim He sees them very plainly; He prays that none may flout The things so dear to him.