1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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