The Song of an Outsider

1 
E'en now the heron treads the wet
  Slush swamps of Goosey pool,  
Now proses vex my Latin set
  That first set upper school.
2 
E'en now, across the summer air, 
  The call bell's clamour floats,
Down to the weed hung rock pools where 
  The Juniors sail their boats
3 
E'en now the gorze is out in bloom
  Along the Torridge valley,
E'en now the sparrow meets his doom
  From catapult & 'Sally'
4 
E'en now to Corey's bath they flock 
  Old comrades, after three.
E'en now the lower schoolboys 'rock'
  The Bideford bargee.
5 
For me no call bell rings alas!
  For me, no proses are,
No lounging on the playground grass
  No sails across the Bar.
6 
The hot winds blow, the punkah flaps 
  Incessant, to and fro.
Ah well for those most lucky chaps
  'Who lark at Westward Ho!
7 
The sunlight thro' the palm tree falls,
  Full on the whitewashed roof,
And worse than any college 'calls'
  Are printers' calls for proof.
8 
More dread than any sudden squall 
  A careless prose could raise,
Are people who drop in to call, 
  And take my busiest days.
9 
Grimmer than any 'thousand lines',
  The lines that I must read
More crabbed than Euclid's worst designs
  A correspondent's screed.
10 
What wonder, while the punkah flaps,
  And hell like hot winds blow, 
I envy those too lucky chaps
  Who work at Westward Ho!

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