Tall churches whose stained Gothic night Refuses to receive the light!
Watch how the stately walk along Toward the terrace, join the throng
That paces carefully up and down Above a cut-out cardboard town!
With prayer-book rigid in each hand, They look below at sea and sand.
The round contentment in their eyes Betrays their favourite fond surmise,
That all successful at a trade Shall tread an eternal Church-Parade,
And every soul that's sleek and fat Shall gain a heavenly top-hat.
From out the Church's Gothic night, Past beds of blossoms china-bright, Beneath the green trees' porous shade, We watch the sea-side Church-Parade.
At the house of Mrs. Kinfoot Are collected Men and women Of all ages. They are supposed To sing, paint, or to play the piano. In the drawing-room The fireplace is set With green tiles Of an acanthus pattern. The black curls of Mrs. Kinfoot Are symmetrical. --Descended, it is said, From the Kings of Ethiopia-- But the British bourgeoisie has triumphed. Mr. Kinfoot is bald And talks In front of the fireplace With his head on one side, And his right hand In his pocket. The joy of catching tame elephants, And finding them to be white ones, Still gleams from the jungle-eyes Of Mrs. Kinfoot, But her mind is no jungle Of Ethiopia, But a sound British meadow.
Listen then to the gospel of Mrs. Kinfoot: "The world was made for the British bourgeoisie, They are its Swiss Family Robinson; The world is not what it was. We cannot understand all this unrest!
Adam and Eve were born to evening dress In the southern confines Of Belgravia. Eve was very artistic, and all that, And felt the fall Quite dreadfully. Cain was such a man of the world And belonged to every club in London; His father simply adored him, --But had never really liked Abel, Who was rather a milk-sop. Nothing exists which the British bourgeoisie Does not understand; Therefore there is no death --And, of course, no life.
The British bourgeoisie Is not born, And does not die, But, if it is ill, It has a frightened look in its eyes.
The War was splendid, wasn't it? Oh yes, splendid, splendid."
Like ninepins houses stand up square In lines; their windows mouths to bite At servants, who lean out to stare At anything that moves in sight.