1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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