Classic Poem

Ah ah! Ah ah! The Business of the Sun!
A passport occupation! — so it might run
On the same principle as Borrow's pets.
" Business of Egypt", muttered the gypsy wits,
To account for goings and comings hard to explain. —
I peddle solar bombshells in the rain.
(I seek no substitute for worldly pomp —
I accept a rented coffin in a swamp
Persona grata in a few freak shops,
On the distaff side I'm well in with the cops —
I know a Dogberry who lurks at the street corner
Got up to represent my little friend Jack Horner). —

( " Jack Horner" was a cue — a second shade
Dwarfish and fat, of stale cigarsmoke made,
With a surly swagger joins the first to ask
A batch of questions, taking the first to task.)

" Insel-Verlag — under the caption of the Sun
" Must that be entered? What have those book-firms done
" To pervert solar energy, in perverting you?
" What swastika is that you planted and flew?
" Why do you call the North Sea " Nordic " now?
" New York you seem to regard as your milch-cow.
" Do you want fame for Phoebus or for yourself?
" Do you say Liberty is on the shelf?
" Are you quite sure, odd bagman, your valise
" Holds solar energy, or only fleas?
" Is Snooty Baronet that dirty book
" I once for D. B. Wyndham's jests mistook?
" What is your solar business, which your bank —
" Accredited to the zodiac, what's your rank?
" Do you claim to be immune as diplomat,
" Or Dogberry or what? When you outsat
" All others at the sittings of the moot,
" Were you afraid your scheme would be pooh-poohed?"