The bus is swaying. We have left Sloane Square.
Noisily the conductor climbs the stair.
'Fares, please!' says he. 'Two penny ones,' say I.
'Two to World's End?' says he. I want to cry,
'Two to World's End-yes, yes, to the very end,
For me and my sweet friend . . . !'
But he turns away; he does not understand;
And we are alone, and dumb, and hand in hand.
love, we are poor, but the gold of the sunset fills our eyes,
And with our pence we have bought us a way to Paradise:
For royally, proudly now, in the pale cool dusk of spring,
We ride to the End of the World along the Road of the King.