When none drank deep of D’Abernonian dream-ales,
But quietly our Empire went its way,
Nor realised that subalterns on horses
Monopolized the brain-power of its Forces:
One who was yet a span from flapperhood,
Still puzzling o’er the simplest of equations;
What time in robe of saffron Phoebus stood,
And all our Lanes were gay with green carnations,
And private hansoms sought the Johnian Wood,
And the shrill cycle-bell’s first tintillations