THE THREE-DECKER
135
By ways no gaze could follow, a course unspoiled of cook,
Per Fancy, fleetest in man, our titled berth we took
With maids of matchless beauty and parentage unguessed,
And a Church of England parson for the Islands of the Blest.
We asked no social questions—we pumped no hidden shame—
We never talked obstetrics when the Little Stranger came:
We left the Lord in Heaven, we left the fiends in Hell.
We weren't exactly Yussufs, but—Zuleika didn't tell.
No moral doubt assailed us, so when the port we neared,
