THE BROKEN MEN
Forthings we never mention,For Art misunderstood—For excellent intentionThat did not turn to good;From ancient tales’ renewing,From clouds we would not clear—Beyond the Law’s pursuingWe fled, and settled here.We took no tearful leaving,We bade no long good-byes;Men talked of crime and thieving,Men wrote of fraud and lies.To save our injured feelings’Twas time and time to go—Behind was dock and Dartmoor,Ahead lay Callao!The widow and the orphanThat pray for ten per cent.,They clapped their trailers on usTo spy the road we went.They watched the foreign sailings(They scan the shipping still),And that’s your Christian peopleReturning good for ill!God bless the thoughtful islandsWhere never warrants come!God bless the just RepublicsThat give a man a home,That ask no foolish questions,But set him on his feet;And save his wife and daughtersFrom the workhouse and the street!On church and square and marketThe noonday silence falls;You’ll hear the drowsy mutterOf the fountain in our halls.Asleep amid the yuccasThe city takes her ease—Till twilight brings the land-windTo our clicking jalousies.Day long the diamond weather,The high, unaltered blue—The smell of goats and incenseAnd the mule-bells tinkling through.Day long the warder oceanThat keeps us from our kin,And once a month our leveeWhen the English mail comes in.You’ll find us up and waitingTo treat you at the bar;You’ll find us less exclusiveThan the average English are.We’ll meet you with our carriage,Too glad to show you round,But—we do not lunch on steamers,For they are English ground.We sail o’ nights to EnglandAnd join our smiling Boards;Our wives go in with ViscountsAnd 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 slurringOnce 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?
Forthings we never mention,For Art misunderstood—For excellent intentionThat did not turn to good;From ancient tales’ renewing,From clouds we would not clear—Beyond the Law’s pursuingWe fled, and settled here.We took no tearful leaving,We bade no long good-byes;Men talked of crime and thieving,Men wrote of fraud and lies.To save our injured feelings’Twas time and time to go—Behind was dock and Dartmoor,Ahead lay Callao!The widow and the orphanThat pray for ten per cent.,They clapped their trailers on usTo spy the road we went.They watched the foreign sailings(They scan the shipping still),And that’s your Christian peopleReturning good for ill!God bless the thoughtful islandsWhere never warrants come!God bless the just RepublicsThat give a man a home,That ask no foolish questions,But set him on his feet;And save his wife and daughtersFrom the workhouse and the street!On church and square and marketThe noonday silence falls;You’ll hear the drowsy mutterOf the fountain in our halls.Asleep amid the yuccasThe city takes her ease—Till twilight brings the land-windTo our clicking jalousies.Day long the diamond weather,The high, unaltered blue—The smell of goats and incenseAnd the mule-bells tinkling through.Day long the warder oceanThat keeps us from our kin,And once a month our leveeWhen the English mail comes in.You’ll find us up and waitingTo treat you at the bar;You’ll find us less exclusiveThan the average English are.We’ll meet you with our carriage,Too glad to show you round,But—we do not lunch on steamers,For they are English ground.We sail o’ nights to EnglandAnd join our smiling Boards;Our wives go in with ViscountsAnd 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 slurringOnce 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?
Forthings we never mention,For Art misunderstood—For excellent intentionThat did not turn to good;From ancient tales’ renewing,From clouds we would not clear—Beyond the Law’s pursuingWe fled, and settled here.
We took no tearful leaving,We bade no long good-byes;Men talked of crime and thieving,Men wrote of fraud and lies.To save our injured feelings’Twas time and time to go—Behind was dock and Dartmoor,Ahead lay Callao!
The widow and the orphanThat pray for ten per cent.,They clapped their trailers on usTo spy the road we went.They watched the foreign sailings(They scan the shipping still),And that’s your Christian peopleReturning good for ill!
God bless the thoughtful islandsWhere never warrants come!God bless the just RepublicsThat give a man a home,That ask no foolish questions,But set him on his feet;And save his wife and daughtersFrom the workhouse and the street!
On church and square and marketThe noonday silence falls;You’ll hear the drowsy mutterOf the fountain in our halls.Asleep amid the yuccasThe city takes her ease—Till twilight brings the land-windTo our clicking jalousies.
Day long the diamond weather,The high, unaltered blue—The smell of goats and incenseAnd the mule-bells tinkling through.Day long the warder oceanThat keeps us from our kin,And once a month our leveeWhen the English mail comes in.
You’ll find us up and waitingTo treat you at the bar;You’ll find us less exclusiveThan the average English are.We’ll meet you with our carriage,Too glad to show you round,But—we do not lunch on steamers,For they are English ground.
We sail o’ nights to EnglandAnd join our smiling Boards;Our wives go in with ViscountsAnd 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 slurringOnce 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?