The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. April
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 1840 (Petworth House) – 1922 (United Kingdom)
TROUT--FISHING
This morning, through my window, half awake,
I felt the south wind blow; and presently,
With a tumultuous thrill and then a shake,
The nightingale broke forth in melody.
I rose in haste, and looked at the grey sky,
And read an omen. From its corner next
A book I drew, blest book, where fly on fly
Are all the letters of its well--thumbed text.
I chose my cast, a march--brown and a dun,
And ran down to the river, chasing hope.
At the first throw a mighty trout was on,
A very Samson, fit to burst a rope,
Yet tamed by one sad hank of yielding hair
And Fate, the fisherman of King and Pope.
Upon the grass he lies, and gasps the air,
Four silver pounds, sublimely fat and fair.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 40 sec read
- 33 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABCDCD XEXEFEFF |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 685 |
Words | 135 |
Stanzas | 2 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8 |
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"The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. April" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 23 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/38829/the-idler’s-calendar.--twelve-sonnets-for-the-months.--april>.
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