Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/98

 "When the last trumpet-solo Strikes up instead of the lark, They'll turn in their sleep just grunting Who's up so soon in the dark?"

Babble and gabble, you rabble, A thousand in full yell! And this is your Tower of Babel, This not-to-be-finished Hotel.

"You should see it in the drawing, You'd think a Palace they make, Like the one in the Lady of Lyons, With this pond for the lovely lake!"

"I wish it wasn't Sunday, There's no amusement at all: Who was here Hot-cross-bun-day? We had such an open-air ball!

The bands played polkas, waltzes, Quadrilles; it was glorious fun! And each gentleman gave them a penny After each dance was done."