1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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