‘Muffins for tea!’ he used to cry,
And fall into my chair.
Above the soda-cake, tobacco
Smoke lay on the air.
Exhausted after Evening Prayer
He’d play himself at Solitaire,
Toy vaguely with his third éclair–
Happy young hostess I!
Now when I light my lamp and drain
My cup beside the fire,
I see the ghost of him I lack. Oh
Memory retire!
Muffins for tea . . . My thoughts conspire
To conjure up King’s College Choir
And happy days in Cambridgeshire
That will not come again.