1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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