At five precisely out went La Marquise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
It's one of many horrid happenings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
With gravity at gravity's great cog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
The best of all things to an end must come