ROSES ALL THE WAY

Each year in vain I take the train

To Dinard, Trouville or Le Touquet;

No lady fair is ever there

To speed me with a bouquet;

No maiden on my brow imposes

A snood of Gloire de Dijon roses!

No purple phlox adorns the locks

Of scanty hair that fringe my cranium;

No garlands deck my shapely neck

With jasmine or geranium.

I travel, like a social pariah,

Without a single calceolaria!

Though up and down I‘ train’ to town,

Each day, with fellow-clerk or broker,

No female hand has ever planned

To trim my third-class‘ smoker,’

To wreathe the rack with scarlet dahlias,

Or drape the seats with pink azaleas!

Let others envy wealthy men

— The Rothschilds, Vanderbilts or Cassels —

I'd much prefer, I must aver,

Like lucky Mr. Lascelles,

To travel well supplied with posies

Of ( on the‘ Underground’ ) Tube-roses!