(If A.E .Housman had
written Thomas Hardy's 'A Sheep Fair.')
In autumntime at Poundberry
They hold the great sheep fair;
'Tis said there are ten thousand
In wet and woolly wear
As daylong rain falls there.
It drips from dogs and buyers,
The shepherd lads, who smell,
Penned ewes with sponge-like fleeces
From down and wold and fell,
And beards wrung out as well.
The globe has turned full often
Since those doomed lots were sold.
The auctioneer no longer
Is drenched and hoarse and cold
Snug in his bed of mould.
If you have any comments on this poem, Jerome Betts would be
pleased to hear from you.