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En l'an
trentiesme de mon aage
Que toutes mes hontes j'ay
beucs ...
Pipit sate upright in her chair
Some
distance from where I was sitting;
Views of the
Oxford Colleges
Lay on the table, with the
knitting.
Daguerreotypes and silhouettes,
Her
grandfather and great great aunts,
Supported on the
mantelpiece
An Invitation to the Dance.
. . . . . .
I shall not want
Honour in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney
And have talk with Coriolanus
And other heroes of
that kidney.
I shall not want Capital in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond:
We two shall lie
together, lapt
In a five per cent Exchequer Bond.
I shall not want Society in Heaven,
Lucretia
Borgia shall be my Bride;
Her anecdotes will be more
amusing
Than Pipit's experience could provide.
I shall not want Pipit in Heaven:
Madame Blavatsky
will instruct me
In the Seven Sacred Trances;
Piccarda
de Donati will conduct me ...
. . . . . .
But where is the
penny world I bought
To eat with Pipit behind the
screen?
The red-eyed scavengers are creeping
From Kentish Town and Golder's Green;
Where are
the eagles and the trumpets?
Buried beneath some
snow-deep Alps.
Over buttered scones and crumpets
Weeping, weeping multitudes
Droop in a hundred
A.B.C.'s
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