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Wayside Weeds
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O restless Bay of Fundy,
O mist and fog and rain,
Hope whispers I may one day
Behold you yet again.
How gladly would I brave ye,
Nor ask a mackintosh,
To see the Magaguadavic,
To fish the Digdeguash.
Callirrhoe’s fair daughters
Have fled their ancient grots;
The voice of many waters
Turns shrieking into watts.
But spare, oh! spare, I crave ye,
Amid the general squash,
The falls of Magaguadavic,
The rips of Digdeguash!
1910.
Rhona Adair
How dull these links to me!
Rhona’s not there,
She whom I long to see,
Rhona Adair!
Who has a swing so true?
Who such a follow through?
Who, who can putt like you,
Rhona Adair?
Who drives her ball so far,
Far through the air
Swift as a shooting star?
Rhona Adair.
Who hits her ball so clean,
Landing, whate’er’s between
Dead on the putting green?
Rhona Adair!
Whose strokes, of all who strike
With hers compare?
Who has a waggle like
Rhona Adair?
Of all the girls I’ve seen
Playing across the green
You, Rhona, are the Queen!
Rhona Adair!
The Duffer’s Elegy
“Oh! put me on your waiting list
I’ll be a golfer if I may
And learn the joys too long I’ve missed
Before I get too old to play!”
They gave him on the list a place
And year by year they let him wait,
For golfers are a long-lived race
And very seldom emigrate.
When, after many weary years,
He reached the top his sponsor said,
“The friend (excuse these natural tears)
Whom I proposed has long been dead.”
And when at last in Charon’s wherry,
It was the sponsor’s turn to stand
His friend came down to meet the ferry
A phantom niblick in his hand.
“Welcome to Hades,” thus the shade
In hollow-sounding accents spoke
Then spied a puff-ball and essayed
To loft it, but he muffed his stroke.
“Permit me, pray, to be your guide
Until you’ve learnt your way about
Our golf course is our greatest pride
Old Colonel Bogey laid it out.
“Some people say Avernus stinks
And Acheron smells like a sewer
But Fernhill golfers like our links
They find the air so fresh and pure.
“Cocytus, Styx and Phlegethon
As hazards serve extremely well,
In this particular alone,
The Lambton links are just like Hell.
“The asphodel wants cutting sadly,
The lies are wretched, more’s the pity
But everything is managed badly
By that infernal Green Committee.
“Come, lay aside your shroud and pall
And play a friendly round with me.”
(A Dead Sea apple was the ball,
A pinch of church-yard dust, the tee.)
O mist and fog and rain,
Hope whispers I may one day
Behold you yet again.
How gladly would I brave ye,
Nor ask a mackintosh,
To see the Magaguadavic,
To fish the Digdeguash.
Callirrhoe’s fair daughters
Have fled their ancient grots;
The voice of many waters
Turns shrieking into watts.
But spare, oh! spare, I crave ye,
Amid the general squash,
The falls of Magaguadavic,
The rips of Digdeguash!
1910.
Rhona Adair
How dull these links to me!
Rhona’s not there,
She whom I long to see,
Rhona Adair!
Who has a swing so true?
Who such a follow through?
Who, who can putt like you,
Rhona Adair?
Who drives her ball so far,
Far through the air
Swift as a shooting star?
Rhona Adair.
Who hits her ball so clean,
Landing, whate’er’s between
Dead on the putting green?
Rhona Adair!
Whose strokes, of all who strike
With hers compare?
Who has a waggle like
Rhona Adair?
Of all the girls I’ve seen
Playing across the green
You, Rhona, are the Queen!
Rhona Adair!
The Duffer’s Elegy
“Oh! put me on your waiting list
I’ll be a golfer if I may
And learn the joys too long I’ve missed
Before I get too old to play!”
They gave him on the list a place
And year by year they let him wait,
For golfers are a long-lived race
And very seldom emigrate.
When, after many weary years,
He reached the top his sponsor said,
“The friend (excuse these natural tears)
Whom I proposed has long been dead.”
And when at last in Charon’s wherry,
It was the sponsor’s turn to stand
His friend came down to meet the ferry
A phantom niblick in his hand.
“Welcome to Hades,” thus the shade
In hollow-sounding accents spoke
Then spied a puff-ball and essayed
To loft it, but he muffed his stroke.
“Permit me, pray, to be your guide
Until you’ve learnt your way about
Our golf course is our greatest pride
Old Colonel Bogey laid it out.
“Some people say Avernus stinks
And Acheron smells like a sewer
But Fernhill golfers like our links
They find the air so fresh and pure.
“Cocytus, Styx and Phlegethon
As hazards serve extremely well,
In this particular alone,
The Lambton links are just like Hell.
“The asphodel wants cutting sadly,
The lies are wretched, more’s the pity
But everything is managed badly
By that infernal Green Committee.
“Come, lay aside your shroud and pall
And play a friendly round with me.”
(A Dead Sea apple was the ball,
A pinch of church-yard dust, the tee.)
Последний отзыв
Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
Далее