One needs over sea to go.
“A word flies fleet on the lightning’s feet,
And ’twere best without ‘mission’ or fuss;
Let the wire give hints to the broker-Prince
To square the advancing Russ.”
But the scribe look’d up from his newspapèr,
And a white-faced scribe was he;
“Too late may a man be, dear my lord,
Though he wait not to cross the sea.
“For the foot of a Fate that is bent on war