VII. LEAVING THE BILLET

By Edward Shanks

Good luck, good health, good temper, these,

A very hive of honey-bees

To make and store up happiness,

Should wait upon you without cease,

If I'd the power to call them down

Into this stuffy little town,

Where the dull air in sticky wreaths

Afflicts a man each time he breathes.

But since I have no power to call

Benevolent spirits down at all,

I'll wish you all the good I know

And close the chapter up and go.