Roses All the Way

Each year in vain I take the train
To Dinard, Trouville or Le Touquet;
No lady fair is ever there
To speed me with a bouquet;
No maiden on my brow imposes
A snood of Gloire de Dijon roses!

No purple phlox adorns the locks
Of scanty hair that fringe my cranium;
No garlands deck my shapely neck
With jasmine or geranium.
I travel, like a social pariah,
Without a single calceolaria!

Though up and down I 'train' to town,
Each day, with fellow-clerk or broker,
No female hand has ever planned
To trim my third-class 'smoker,'
To wreathe the rack with scarlet dahlias,
Or drape the seats with pink azaleas!

Let others envy wealthy men
--The Rothschilds, Vanderbilts or Cassels--
I'd much prefer, I must aver,
Like lucky Mr. Lascelles,
To travel well supplied with posies
Of (on the 'Underground') Tube-roses!