WHAT I FOUND IN THE HUNT- 

 ING-COAT POCKET. 



IN my house there 's a half-hidden closet 

 Just under the stairs to the loft, 

 And cobwebs are safe in its corners, 

 For none of the hands that are soft 

 Ever dare touch the latch that will open 



To cartridge belts, shotguns, and dangers. 

 But old Don and I have a feeling 



Of pity for all the poor strangers 

 To things that are hung on those walls. 



There 's a pair of big boots in one corner, 



And snipe decoys, rods and a float ; 

 But dearest of all the odd things there, 



To me, is the soiled canvas coat. 

 And to-day in the hunting-coat pocket 



I find a dry, shrivelled-up leaf, 

 A feather that once was a woodcock's, 



And one little twig, come to grief. 

 There 's some rabbit hair too, and loose grass-seed. 



How quickly for alders of autumn 



My thoughts leave this hot summer day, 



For frost-covered corn-shocks and stubble, 

 And windrows of brown leaves and gay, 

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