Variation on a Theme by Newbolt

The City will see him no more at important meetings

    In Renaissance board rooms by Edwin Cooper designed;

In his numerous clubs the politely jocular greetings

    Will be rather more solemn to-day with his death in mind.

Half mast from a first floor window, the Company’s bunting

    Flops over Leadenhall Street in this wintry air

And his fellow directors, baulked of a good day’s hunting

    Nod gloomily back to the gloomy commissionaire.

His death will be felt through the whole of the organization,

    In every branch of its vast managerial tree,

His brother-in-law we suppose will attend the cremation,

    A service will later be held in St. Katherine Cree.

But what of his guns?—he was always a generous giver.

    (Oh yes, of course, we will each of us send a wreath),

His yacht? and his shoot? and his beautiful reach of river?

    And all the clubs in his locker at Walton Heath?

I do not know, for my mind sees one thing only,

    A luxurious bedroom looking on miles of fir

From a Surrey height where his widow sits silent and lonely

    For the man whose love seemed wholly given to her.