But I’m not a faithless villain—just a lad whose years are few,
And who can’t afford to waste them sitting sorrowful indoors.
“Don’t think I have forgotten you, so true and good and kind,
It’s only that life’s different now, a harder thing and strange:
This London alters everything and makes your soul go blind,
And the office work’s so tiring, Lord! you long for any change.
“So that’s why I write this letter: that you shouldn’t think it right
Just because we used to promise things and kiss, in days gone by,
To refuse the other fellows when they come to woo, at sight.
O! London eats your heart and soul—my little Rose, Good-bye.”