Wheresoe’er I turn my view,
All is strange, yet nothing new;
Endless labour all along,
Endless labour to be wrong;
Phrase that Time has flung away,
Uncouth words in disarray:
Trickt in antique ruff and bonnet,
Ode and elegy and sonnet.
“‘Fore they dig him up, need a lawyer and an alibi Before we pull the jux, let ’em know I’m camera-shy Rooms full of books, used to wonder what’s inside
Run my hands down the spine, now I sit saturnine“