I6 
THE LITTLE HALF-SOVEREIGN 
 
“ Is not a candle burning 
Somewhere amid the flame 
Scorching the smoke of London 
With its eternal shame ? 
 
“ Is there no gate so stubborn 
That shall not find a key, 
That with our Sovereign’s image 
Graven in majesty ? ” 
 
Why not the Devil’s portrait 
Graven in Walham Green ? 
Why with the bare suggestion 
Dare we insult our Queen ? 
 
Give me the golden trumpet 
Blown at the judgment-day, 
Closing the gate of mercy 
Over the Cast Away. 
 
Melt me its gold to money, 
Coin me that small, small ring 
Stamped with the Hoof of Satan, 
Bearing the name of King. 
 
Then, in the murky midnight, 
Silently lead me down, 
Down into Hell’s dark portals, 
Far in the West of Town.