⁠And join our smiling Boards;
Our wives go in with Viscounts
⁠And our daughters dance with Lords.
But behind our princely doings,
⁠And behind each coup we make,
"We feel there's Something Waiting,
⁠And—we meet It when we wake.

Ah God! One sniff of England—
⁠To greet our flesh and blood—
To hear the hansoms slurring
⁠Once more through London mud!
Our towns of wasted honour—
⁠Our streets of lost delight!
How stands the old Lord Warden?
⁠Are Dover's cliffs still white?