A world too wide for my shrunk shanks”——
Then I, nostalgia stricken, dream,
And see thy white enamelled banks
Through clouds of steam.
Just as when corybantic drakes
(Or ducks, just as the case may be),
With clamorous quack, seek limpid lakes,
So seek I thee.
But baths are not our rations in
Gallipoli. ’Tis too far south—