And in those catacombs, however cramping,
You did at least know vaguely where you were.
Ah, happy days in deep well-ordered alleys,
Where, after dining, probably with wine,
One felt indifferent to hostile sallies,
And with a pipe meandered round the line;
You trudged along a trench until it ended;
It led at least to some familiar spot;
It might not be the place that you'd intended,
But then you might as well be there as not.