1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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