Till skylines sigh the stars full to the brim!
As on I tramp through sun-parched days or camp beside the trackless ways,
Here with my fiddle in the jungle curl’d,
Weighed down with wealth!—my tropic seas, my roof of stars above palm trees,
My home the hills and highways of the world!
But—if you men of far-off towns have got a few spare old half-crowns,
Just buy my book, it’s really not the worst
Man ever wrote, but nearly so, and that’s quite near enough, you know;
So, be my friend—and read it “till you burst.”