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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