letra de wilford scawen blunt - the idlers calender - june - richard mitchley
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it is our custom, once in every year
mine and two others’, when the chestnut trees
are white at bushey, ascot being near
to drive to hampton court, and there, at ease
in that most fair of english palaces
spend a long summer’s day. what better cheer
than the old “greyhound’s,” seek it where you please?
and where a royal garden statelier?
the morning goes in tennis, a four set
with george the marker. ’tis a game for gods
full of return and volley at the net
and laughter and mirth–making episodes
not wholly classic. but the afternoon
finds us punt–fishing idly with our rods
nodding and half in dreams, till all too soon
darkness and dinner drive us back to town
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