Lie the rotten weeds that serve him;
In the gutters and the sewers,
In the melancholy alleys,
Half-clad Arab boys collect them,
Crossing-sweepers bring them to him,
Costermongers keep them for him,
And he turns them by his magic
Into “cavendish” and “bird’s-eye,”
For those clay-pipes and churchwardens,
For this meerschaum, or he folds them,