Only that, and nothing more.
Ah, distinctly I remember it was early in November
When to town the wearied Member came, and thought the thing a bore.
Eagerly I hoped the morrow Salisbury some sense might borrow,
And I thought with ceaseless sorrow of the streamside and the moor,
Of the rare and radiant raptures of the streamside and the moor.
Heather’s sweep and trout-stream’s roar.
Open then I flung the doorway, when, with blast as chill as Norway,
In there stepped “Fair Trade” Dunraven, solemn as a monk of yore;
Not the least apology made he, though I thought his manners “shady,”