Now the 'rosy morn appearing' Floods with light the dazzled heaven; And the schoolboy groans on hearing That eternal clock strike seven:- Now the waggoner is driving Towards the fields his clattering wain; Now the bluebottle, reviving, Buzzes down his native pane.

White is the wold, and ghostly The dank and leafless trees; And 'M's and 'N's are mostly Pronounced like 'B's and 'D's: 'Neath bleak sheds, ice-encrusted, The …

O Beer! O Hodgson, Guinness, Allsop, Bass! Names that should be on every infant's tongue! Shall days and months and years and centuries pass, And still your me…

I have a liking old For thee, though manifold Stories, I know, are told *Not to thy credit!