There is a noise of winkles on the air,
Muffins and winkles rattle down the road,
The sluggish road, whose hundred houses stare
One on another in after-dinner gloom.
"Peace, perfect Peace!" wails an accordion,
"Ginger, you're barmy!" snarls a gramophone.
A most unhappy place, this leafless Grove
In the near suburbs; not a place for tears
Nor for light laughter, for all life is chilled