(With Respectful Memories of Tom Hood.)
With garments soddened and soiled,
With boot-tops covered in grime,
With trousers bespattered with foulest mud,
Picking one's way through the slime.
Slush—slush—slush!
And foul-smelling filth and dirt,
That clings like a kind of malodorous pitch—
I sing the "Song of the Dirt."
Dirt—dirt—dirt!