Stanzas Written In Dejection I Am Tired Of The Day With Its Profitless Labours, And Tired Of The Night With Its Lack Of Repose, I Am Sick Of Myself, My Surroundings, And Neighbours, Especially Aryan Brothers And Crows; O Land Of Illusory Hope For The Needy, O Centre Of Soldiering, Thirst, And Shikar, When A Broken-Down Exile Begins To Get Seedy, What A Beast Of A Country You Are! There Are Many, I Know, That Have Honestly Drawn A Most Moving Description Of Pleasures To Win By The Exquisite Carnage Of Such Of Your Fauna As Nature Provides With A 'Head' Or A 'Skin'; I Know That A Pig Is Magnificent Sticking; But Good As You Are In The Matter Of Sports, When A Person'S Alive, So To Put It, And Kicking, You're A Brute When A Man'S Out Of Sorts. For The Moment He Feels The Effects Of The Weather - A Mild Go Of Fever - A Touch Of The Sun - He Arrives With A Jerk At The End Of His Tether, And Finds Your Attractions A Bit Overdone; Impatiently Conscious Of Boredom And Worry, He Sits In His Misery, Scowling At Grief, With A Face Like A Pallid Rechauff'E Of Curry, And A Head Like A Lump Of Boiled Beef. I Am Sick Of The Day (As I Happened To Mention), And Sick Of The Night (As I Stated Before), And It's Oh, For The Wings Of A Dove Or A Pension To Carry Me Home To A Happier Shore! And Oh, To Be Off, Homeward Bound, On The Briny, Away From The Tropics - Away From The Heat, And To Take Off A Shocking Old Hat To The Shiny, As I Shake Off Her Dust From My Feet!