Let some sing the joys of our rivers,
The Isis (or Thames) and the Cher,
Let some swot for Mods and for Divvers
Or loaf at the Clarendon bar,
These pleasures I rate below par
For another I pass them all by—
More seductive than all of them are
The windows that shine in the High.
Let others (more riotous livers)
Frequent the Cadena bazaar,
Let East Oxford empty her quivers
At the heart of the young Lochimar—
My pastime to view from afar
Many things I would willingly buy
(Did not £ s. d. shortage debar)
In the windows that shine in the High.
There are fur coats (for those that have shivers)
Pictures, bric-à-brac, jams by the jar,
Wines, whiskeys and cordials for givers
Of binges, and waters from Spa;
The fatal-to-Freshmen cigar
And books on Anthrópophagi
(I am sorry that accent to mar)
In the windows that shine in the High.
Will pay bills without batting an eye
I would bid you be wary (Selah!)
Of the windows that shine in the High.