Take any station, pavement, circus, corner,
Where men their styles of print may call or choose,
And there-ten times more on it than Jack Horner-
There you shall find him swathed in sheets of news.
Nothing can stay the placing of his wares-
Not 'bus, nor cab, nor dray! The very Slop,
That imp of power, is powerless! Ever he dares,
And, daring, lands his public neck and crop.
Even the many-tortured London ear,
The much-enduring, loathes his Speeshul yell,
His shriek of Winnur! But his dart and leer
And poise are irresistible. Pall Mall
Joys in him, and Mile End; for his vocation
Is to purvey the stuff of conversation.
More verses by William Ernest Henley
- The Surges Gushed And Sounded
- When You Wake In Your Crib
- Time And The Earth
- O, Falmouth Is A Fine Town
- The Spirit Of Wine