Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
Alexander Smith (1830–1867)Extract from Horton
C
A solitary lark above his head,
Laugh like the jovial sinner in his cups?
I vote for Winter! Why, you know the “Crown,”
The rows of pewter winking in the light,
The mighty egg-flip at the sanded bar,
The nine-pins, skittles, silent dominoes,
The bellied landlord with his purple head,
Like a red cabbage on December morn
Crusted with snow. His buxom daughter, Bess—
A dahlia, not a rosebud—she who bears
The foaming porter to the guests, and laughs
The loudest at their wit. Can any Summer
Build you a nest like that?