Moments there are of transient gloom
When life for me appears to lose
Its rosy aspect and assume
The turnip's pessimistic hues;
As when o' mornings, gazing out
Across my patch of fog-grey river,
I feel a twinge of poor man's gout
Or else a touch of liver;
Or when, forgetting Watts's rhymes
On puppy-dogs that bark and bite,