The place I built and deemed a show-thing,
Its terraces, its waterfalls—
Once more I hear that sound of loathing,
The bell rings and a stranger calls
To speak of underclothing.
They've bashed my offices to wrecks,
They've broke their way beyond the warders,
And now my country seat they vex,
They trample my herbaceous borders;
They chase me up and down with cheques,