[Sherlock Holmes is to retire from public life for ever, and means, according to Sir Conan Doyle, to keep bees.]

We’ve seen some times together,
 My Sherlock, you and I,
In fair or foulest weather:
 I hate to say good-bye.
But if, upon reflection,
 You feel that you require
A respite from detection,
 Then certainly retire.

Leave the fair street of Baker,
 The City’s busy din,
And tend your cow (and acre),
 And play the violin.
Cloth-capped and shooting-coated,
 Rest ’neath some shady tree,
While Watson, still devoted,
 Rounds up the nimble bee.

What though the forger forges?
 What though the robber robs?
You’ll smile upon their orgies,
 Be blind to all their jobs:
What matter though wrongdoers
 Rope in the wished-for swag?
Join not their stern pursuers,
 Sit still and smoke your shag.

Dream on. Let nought perplex you.
 All thoughts of crime efface:
Dream on. Don’t let it vex you
 That we’re in sorry case.
You will enjoy existence;
 But we—it does seem hard—
Henceforth must seek assistance
 From—shudder!—Scotland Yard.

P. G. W.