Allons! Allons! Tra-la-la! Hear my Bellata! Why do you not return to Mandalay O soldier? Do you not remember the boats, and the paddles as they chunked outside the boats?...
Why do you sit in the churchyard weeping? Why do you cling to the dear old graves, When the dim, drear mists of the dusk are creeping Out of the marshes in wan, white waves?...
It is told, in Buddhi-theosophic Schools There are rules By observing which when mundane matter irks, Or the world has gone amiss, you Can incontinently issue From the circumscribing tissue...