My prose was modelled on Rebecca West,
My “little things” erstwhile reflected tone,
My brother poets claimed me as their own.
In those blithe days, before the War began—
Ah me, I was a safe young Georgian!
Now all is chaos, all confusion.
Bolshes have cast E. M. from his high throne:
Wild women have rushed in, and savage Yanks
Blather of Booth and Heaven: and T. S. E.
Uses great words that are as Greek to me.