Strewing around her polls
The remnants of their ungummed aureoles.
In Amerongen there is grief to-day;
I seem to hear the martyr of Potsdam say,
"Alas for SNOWDEN, gone the downward way,
And O my poor, my poor beloved RAMSAY;
I much regret the rout
That washed this couple absolutely out!"
Dreadfully, too, the heart of TROTSKY bleeds,
To match the stain upon his reeking sabre,