Proem to ‘The Wonderful 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.”

                                                Though

Though our thoughts turn ever Doomwards,
Though our sun is well-nigh set,
Though our Century totters tombwards,
We may laugh a little yet.