Mission of Earl Lavender”
Though our eyes turn ever waveward
Where our sun is well-nigh set;
Though our Century totters graveward
We may laugh a little yet.
Oh! our age-end style perplexes
All our elders time has tamed;
On our sleeves we wear our sexes,
Our diseases, unashamed.
Have we lost the mood romantic
That was once our right by birth?
Lo ! the greenest girl is frantic
With the woe of all the earth.
But we know a British rumour,
And we think it whispers well:
”We would ventilate our humour
In the very jaws of Hell.”