To The Tsar

(After Dunkirk)         My dear Tsar, -         I am owing you         The usual apologies.         I did not come to Dunkirk,         I did not come to Dunkirk,         I did not come to Dunkirk;         I was billed as usual,         But at the last moment         I did not come.         So that it was in vain, my dear Tsar,         That you and your Imperial spouse         (To whom I offer my very humble duty),         It was in vain         That you and your Imperial spouse         (To whom I again offer my very humble duty)         Searched the poop of La Marguerite         With your Imperial binoculars;         I was not there,         I was not there,         (O pregnant phrase!)         I was not there;         I was not on the poop,         I was not on the poop,         I was not on the poop,         I was not even abaft the binnacle,         In fine, I was not there at all.         And why?         Ah, ingrate that I am,         Why?    O why?         The North Sea or German Ocean, my dear Tsar,         No doubt hath its pearls,         It also hath other things,         As, for example, a Dover-Ostend route.         I went on that route         On Saturday last;         It is a nice route,         I give you my word for it;         But the North Sea or German Ocean         Also has         An Ostend-Dover route,         On which route I went         On Sunday evening         And part of Monday morning last.         Five hours, my dear Tsar,         Had I of that Ostend-Dover route;         And I am now at a place called Thame         In Oxfordshire,         Recruiting -         Though I promised a man at Bruges,         And another man at Ypres,         That I would infallibly see him         At Dunkirk.         The Loubets are, of course,         Bitterly disappointed,         But you can explain for me,         Can you not, my dear Tsar?         You understand,         Do you not?         The North Sea or German Ocean         Fatigued you,         Did it not?         That is precisely what it did to me.         Fatigue is a good word.         I thank thee, Tsar, for that beautiful word fatigue.         All day Monday I felt so fatigued         That I went and joined a Peace Society.         The Boer war, my dear Tsar,         Is entirely over,         So far as I am concerned;         Henceforth I quarrel with no man.         Fatigue has laid its heavy hand upon me;         I am too much fatigued to quarrel even with the partner of my joys and sorrows.         Peace, perfect peace,         Is what I require,         And what I mean having.         Time writes no wrinkles on the Ostend-Dover route.         But you should see the people who have been that way.         Thame, in Oxfordshire,         Pitches beneath my feet         When I think of it.