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Kenneth Slessor - Glubbdubdrib
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        IN the castle of Glubbdubdrib
        How spendidly we dine
        On flesh from magic potagers
        And cups of dead men`s wine,
        Dead men who run with bottles,
        Lackeys of silent air,
        A ghost in gilded livery
        Fawning behind each chair.
        Beckon, and flunkey Caesars
        Bring us their phantom bread.
        Once they were gods and emperors;
        Now, of course, they are dead.
        The governor of Glubbdubdrib
        (Two ghosts cringe on each side)
        Bows to congratulations,
        Filled with a careless pride.
        “Really, the servant problem . . . .
        You mean that Roman youth?
        Catullus. Oh, yes, brisk enough,
        But—you know—so uncouth.
        “There`s Plato in the passage,
        They tell me he`s quite droll.
        He says some devilish clever things;
        A heathen, though, poor soul . . . .”
        The governor of Glubbdubdrib
        Resumes his drinking-cup.
        As for the guests and visitors,
        They hadn`t even looked up.
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