The Badger
Patrick Reginald Chalmers
1872 to 1942
Last of the night's quaint clan
He goes his way —
A simple gentleman
In sober grey:
To match lone paths of his
In woodlands dim,
The moons of centuries
Have silvered him.
Deep in the damp, fresh earth
He roots and rolls,
And builds his winter girth
Of sylvan tolls:
When seek the husbandmen
The furrow brown,
He hies him to his den
And lays him down.
There may he rest for me,
Nor ever stir
For clamorous obloquy
Of terrier:
Last of the night's quaint clan
He curls in peace —
A friendly gentleman
In grey pelisse.
Patrick Reginald Chalmers's The Badger
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