AND some we loved, the feeblest with a Club,
Ordain’d to sclaff, to foozle, and to flub,
Have turned in Cards a Round or two before,
And played that final Green without a Rub.
XXIII
AND we that now make merry on the Green
They left, and Summer dresses in new sheen,
Ourselves must we beneath the springing Turf
Add our Ell to the Bunker of Has-been.
