Only page of title Fairly Easy
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5
Into the murky, mud-bound street below;
I grimly note the slush that floods the basement,
The hail, the sleet -- and oh!
I feel that I am greater than I know!
Only a demigod could thrive
'Mid such surroundings drear;
Only a hero could survive
In such an atmosphere!
The weather grows less suited to a dog;
Each night damp mists arise, to chill and deaden!
(The golf-course is a bog:
Twice has my ball been stymied by a frog! )
Still sweetly in my bosom wakes
The knowledge nought can mar,
That 'tis our island climate makes
Us Britons what we are!
We should not wear that air of self-control
Which, round about our placid British faces,
Shines like an aureole,
Expressing true stolidity of soul.
To chill and gloom, to frost and thaw,
Our country owes to-day
The dogged jaw of Bonar Law,
The eye of Edward Grey!
Where would a poet be without your clime,
Which gives him such a subject for his verses,
Supplying (ev'ry time)
A reason for his undistinguished rhyme?
His lesson may be sharp and stern,
His anguish keen and long;
But so in sniffing he may learn
What he expounds in song!
End of title
