OH! this is a joyful dirge, my friends, and this is a hymn of praise; And this is a clamour of Victory, and a pean of Ancient Days. It isn't a Yelp of the Battlefield; nor a Howl of the Bounding Wave, But an ode to the Things that the War has Killed, and a lay of the Festive Grave. 'Tis a triolet of the Tomb, you bet, and a whoop because of Despair, And it's sung as I stand on my hoary head and wave my legs in the air!
Oh! I dance on the grave of the Suffragette (I dance on my hands and dome), And the Sanctity-of-the-Marriage-Tie and the Breaking-Up-of-the-Home. And I dance on the grave of the weird White-Slave that died when the war began; And Better-Protection-for-Women-and-Girls, and Men-Made-Laws-for-Man!
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