Smashed and crushed in a crowded pen,
Bruised and battered by bustling men,
A lamb in a roaring lion’s den—
That’s how I saw the Derby.
“The favourite’s beat!” the millions cry,
The next umbrella extracts my eye,
And I’ve laid two thousand to one with Fry—
That’s how I liked the Derby.
I’ve lost my temper, I’ve lost my tin;
Where is my watch—my chain—my pin?
And my boots are letting the water in—
That’s how I left the Derby.
A couple of doctors by my bed,
A block of ice on my burning head,
And somehow I wish that I was dead—
That’s what came of the Derby.
The brokers in on a bill of sale,
Pills and potions of no avail,
A jerry-built tomb with a rusty rail—
That’s what came of the Derby.
R.I.P. on a soot-grimed stone,
And under my name these words alone:
“The biggest juggins that ever was known”
Has gone where’s there no more Derby.
Shall we Remember?
H, love, my love, as hand in hand,
This glorious autumn weather,
We stroll along the golden strand,
And watch the ships together,
We murmur vows we mean to keep,
But by next year’s September,
How many made beside the deep
Shall We Remember?
Old love is dead; new love awakes,
And hearts are playthings ever;
Though change may mar, ’tis change that makes;
Time every link can sever;
Though dull love’s fire, to glowing gold
We fan the dying ember—
Yet in new love, the love of old
Shall We Remember?