A Cooking Egg Analysis

     En l'an trentiesme do mon aage

     Que toutes mes hontes j'ay beues...



Pipit sate upright in her chair

     Some distance from where I was sitting;

Views of the Oxford Colleges

     Lay on the table, with the knitting.



Daguerreotypes and silhouettes,

     Her grandfather and great great aunts,

Supported on the mantelpiece

     An Invitation to the Dance.



     . . . . .



I shall not want Honour in Heaven

     For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney

And have talk with Coriolanus

     And other heroes of that kidney.



I shall not want Capital in Heaven

     For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond.

We two shall lie together, lapt

     In a five per cent. Exchequer Bond.



I shall not want Society in Heaven,

     Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride;

Her anecdotes will be more amusing

     Than Pipit's experience could provide.



I shall not want Pipit in Heaven:

     Madame Blavatsky will instruct me

In the Seven Sacred Trances;

     Piccarda de Donati will conduct me.



     . . . . .



But where is the penny world I bought

     To eat with Pipit behind the screen?

The red-eyed scavengers are creeping

     From Kentish Town and Golder's Green;



Where are the eagles and the trumpets?



     Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.

Over buttered scones and crumpets

     Weeping, weeping multitudes

Droop in a hundred A.B.C.'s

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