* * * * *
As I dally awhile o’er my toast and the Times,
I picture these tourists, for time ever pressed,
Like spirits condemned, for most heinous of crimes,
To forfeit for ever the semblance of rest;
From foul-smelling places to towns fouler still,
I see them dragged hither and thither away;
Doomed mountains to climb, and spa waters to swill,
To touts and to guides and to vergers a prey.
I see them, deprived of the comforts they need,