For Western bards to perpetrate a wheeze on,
And cover, in a frenzy, page on page
With all the rhymer’s threadbare persiflage.
[70]
]We seek in vain the fern-wreaths on your gown,
The dew-drop jewels in your carpet spreading—
Those pæans from the bush-land and the town,
Suggestive, quaintly, of a fairy wedding:
We wait expectantly—then truckle down
To sleep on bags—no rose leaves for our bedding!
And wring our hands, and weep like anything ...