(_An actual incident_.)
My fancy sought no English field,
What time my holiday drew near;
I felt no fond desire to wield
The shrimping net of yesteryear;
I found it easy to eschew
All wish to hear a pierrot stating
His lust to learn the rendezvous
Of flies engaged in hibernating.
Beyond the Channel I would range
(I called it "cross the rolling main")
And there achieve the thorough change
Demanded by my jaded brain;
It might be that an alien clime
Would jog a failing inspiration,
Buck up a bard and render rhyme
Less difficult of excavation.
A thorough change? Ah, barren quest,
Foredoomed to fail ere half begun!
Though left behind, my England pressed
In hot pursuit of me, her son;
London was brought again to view
By hordes of maidens out for pillage,
When from the train I stepped into
A flag day in an Alpine village.
* * * * *