Space is a wind that does not blow On Betelgeuse and time - oh time - is a bird, Whose wings have never stirred The golden avenues of leaves On Betelgeuse.

The children play At hide and seek About the monument To Speke. And why should the dead Explorer mind Who has nothing to seek And nothing to find?

You cannot hope To bribe or twist, Thank God! The British journalist. But, seeing what The man will do Unbribed, there's No occasion to.