This page has been validated.
GAFFER’S LAST JOURNEY
. . . You’re all alone. Tho’ we trudge on beside
(All of us but poor Pincher), one by one,
And Granny often stumbles: yet you ride
Alone.
. . . You need no gaiters, tho’ the roads be mire;
Your old blue cloak’s at home, despite the rain;
We needn’t be afraid you’ll ever tire
Again.
. . . ’Tis market-day, we're all for Shere, and yet
There’s not one word among so many souls.
But, straight ahead, a bell one can’t forget
Tolls, tolls. . . .
Stop, yon’s the village! Lay the holly-greens
Upon the lid . . . lift him . . . with bated breath
Bear him along, and reverence! Oh, this means
Death!
55
