June’s poem
Alas, this is how I often feel, re-reading The Fellowship of the Ring.
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From Nancy Mitford’s Highland Fling:
Receiving no answer beyond a frigid stare, Albert, with a deep sigh, disposed himself upon the stone, sitting cross-legged like an idol. He then produced a slim volume from his pocket. “I presume you have read ‘The Testament of Beauty,’ sir?”The actual poem (Stevenson’s “Requiem”):
“Never heard of it.”
“Oh, sir, you must have heard of it. A very great poem by our Poet Laureate.”
“No, I haven’t; I expect it’s immoral stuff, anyway. Kipling ought to be the Poet Laureate, to my mind.”
“Alas! Philistine that I am, I must disagree with you. I cannot appreciate Sir Rudyard’s writings as no doubt I should. ‘Lest we forget, lest we forget,’ ” he chanted. “Have you a favourite poem, sir?”
The general remained silent, his eye on the horizon. As a matter of fact he had a favourite poem, but he could not quite remember how it went –
Under the wide and starry skyDig my grave and let me lie.Home is the hunter home from the hill,And the hunter home from the hill.
Something more or less like that.
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Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
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