I know the strange tale of the Slug;

The Early Sin—the Fall—

The Sleep—the Vision—and the Vow—

The Quest—the Crown—the Call.

And I have loved the Octopus,

Since we were boys together.

I love the Vulture and the Shark:

I even love the weather.

I love to bask in sunny fields,

And when that hope is vain,

I go and bask in Baker Street,

All in the pouring rain.

Come snow! where fly, by some strange law,

Hard snowballs—without noise—

Through streets untenanted, except

By good unconscious boys.

Come fog! exultant mystery—

Where, in strange darkness rolled,

The end of my own nose becomes

A lovely legend old.

Come snow, and hail, and thunderbolts,

Sleet, fire, and general fuss;

Come to my arms, come all at once—

Oh photograph me thus!

Observe these Pirates bold and gay,

That sail a gory sea:

Notice their bright expression:—

The handsome one is me.