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Poem	Britannia needs no Boulevards, No spaces wide and gay: Her march was through the crooked streets Along the narrow way. Nor looks she where, New York's seduction, The Broadway leadeth to destruction. Britannia needs no Cafes: If Coffee needs must be, Its place should be the Coffee-house Where Johnson growled for Tea; But who can hear that human mountain Growl for an ice-cream soda-fountain? She needs no Russian Theatrey Mere Father strangles Mother, In scenes where all the characters And colours kill each other-- Her boast is freedom had by halves, And Britons never shall be Slavs. But if not hers the Dance of Death, Great Dostoievsky's dance, And if the things most finely French Are better done in France-- Might not Americanisation Be best applied to its own nation? Ere every shop shall be a store And every Trade a Trust . . . Lo, many men in many lands Know when their cause is just. There will be quite a large attendance When we Declare our Independence.
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