Classic Poem

Let Walton rejoice and be glad: it hath gained approval of Me.
And the Wise of the Earth are as naught and the judges vanity
There are rich romantic glimpses: there are bowers of bashful mud
(I know a railing down by the Pier, that simply stirs the blood)
O stately trees of Walton—(that is a tree, I think)
O mystical water of Walton, too holy for Man to drink;
The rich of the earth and the mighty, that sit on the golden throne,
That go upon Continental Tours with bicycles not their own
That wax proud with the grace of gold: that are filled of the soul's desire
That provide you with one and eightpence to send off a sixpenny wire
They mock: they shoot out the lip: they grin like a dog: or a pup
Like those of the Psalmist's enemies who hadn't been well brought up.