哦，有时候我们听到的这些烦恼和骚动，在教堂司事的耳朵里，似乎比他自己沉闷的钟声还要乏味。叮咚!叮咚!整个世界就像一个沸腾的海洋在一座火山上沸腾——我整天都是悲哀!从婴儿床到寿衣!护士在摇篮旁唱着摇篮曲，当我们死去时，穿着靴子的朋友们在我们身边蹒跚而行，大声地哼着鼻子。清晨，小声音的哈巴狗在阳光下欢迎，而跳蚤身上的杂种狗，一个接一个地醒来，回答所有的问题。当暮色笼罩我们时，那寂寞的呢喃，尖酸的独唱，尖酸的二重唱，和阵阵的狂风，——这就是我们的赞美诗。女人，她们的舌头像极地的针，永远在罐子上;人是没有塞子的喷口，他们的肺里有深泉。 Children, with drums Strapped round them by the fond paternal ass; Peripatetics with a blade of grass Between their thumbs. Vagrants, whose arts Have caged some devil in their mad machine, Which grinding, squeaks, with husky groans between, Come out by starts. Cockneys that kill Thin horses of a Sunday, -- men, with clams, Hoarse as young bisons roaring for their dams From hill to hill. Soldiers, with guns, Making a nuisance of the blessed air, Child-crying bellman, children in despair, Screeching for buns. Storms, thunders, waves! Howl, crash, and bellow till ye get your fill; Ye sometimes rest; men never can be still But in their graves.