At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
And let you off from your opinions glum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum