My dear Sir, or Madam, -
When James Watt,
Or some such person,
Had the luck
To see a kettle boil,
He little dreamed
That he was discovering you,
Otherwise he would have let his kettle boil
For a million million years
Without saying anything about it.
However,
James Watt
Omitted to take cognisance of the ultimate trouble,
And here you are.
And here, alas! you will stay,
Till our iron roads are beaten into ploughshares,
And Messrs. Cook & Sons are at rest.
"When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran"
(Which, strange as it may seem, is Wordsworth)
Your goings to and fro upon the earth,
And walkings up and down thereon,
Were limited by the day trip.
For half-a-crown
You went to Brighton,
Or to Buxton and Matlock,
Or Stratford-on-Avon,
As the case may be.
A special tap of ale
And a special cut of 'am
Were put on for your delectation;
You sang a mixture of hymns
And music-hall songs
On your homeward journey,
And there was an end of the matter.
But nowadays there is no escape from you.
The trip that was over and done
In twenty-four hours at most
Has become a matter
Of "Saturday to Monday at Sunny Saltburn,"
"Ten days in Lovely Lucerne,"
And "A Visit to the Holy Land for Ten Guineas."
Wherever one goes
On this wide globe
There shall one find
Your empty ginger-beer bottle and your old newspaper;
The devastations,
Fence-breakings,
And flower-pot maraudings
Which you once reserved for noblemen's seats
Are now extended to the Rigi,
The Bridge of Sighs,
Mount Everest,
And the deserts of Gobi
And Shamo.
Indeed, I question whether it would be possible
For one to traverse
The trackless forests of Mexico
Or "the dreary tundras of remote Siberia,"
Or to put one's nose
Into such an uncompromising fastness as Craig Ell Achaie
(Which is the last place the Canadian Pacific Railway made
And which may not be properly spelled)
Without coming upon you
Picnicking in a spinny,
And prepared to greet all and sundry
With that time-honoured remark,
"There's 'air,"
Or some other
Equally objectionable ribaldry.
Well, my dear Tripper,
Time is short,
And poets fill their columns easily,
So that I must not abuse you any more.
You are part of the Cosmos,
And as such I am bound to respect you;
But, by Day and Night,
I wish
That James Watt
Had taken no notice
Of his boiling kettle!