Like forest leaves under a gale
Not even a saucer was shattered
By a flick of the tail.
Oh, say, can this care for the teacup
Proclaim that the common decay
Is busting the bovine physique up
And hasting the horrible day
When the bard, too, must take up the story
That the halo of England grows dim,
Since the beef, whence she gathered her glory,