So there stood Matthew Arnold and this girl

    With the cliffs of England crumbling away behind them，

    And he said to her， 'Try to be true to me，

    And I'll do the same for you， for things are bad

    All over， etc.， etc.'

    Well now， I knew this girl. It's true she had read

    Sophocles in a fairly good translation

    And caught that bitter allusion to the sea，

    But all the time he was talking she had in mind

    The notion of what his whiskers would feel like

    On the back of her neck. She told me later on

    That after a while she got to looking out

    At the lights across the channel， and really felt sad，

    Thinking of all the wine and enormous beds

    And blandishments in French and the perfumes.

    And then she got really angry. To have been brought

    All the way down from London， and then be addressed

    As a sort of mournful cosmic last resort

    Is really tough on a girl， and she was pretty.

    Anyway， she watched him pace the room

    And finger his watch-chain and seem to sweat a bit，

    And then she said one or two unprintable things.

    But you mustn't judge her by that. What I mean to say is，

    She's really all right. I still see her once in a while

    And she always treats me right. We have a drink

    And I give her a good time， and perhaps it's a year

    Before I see her again， but there she is，

    Running to fat， but dependable as they come.

    And sometimes I bring her a bottle of Nuit d' Amour