The meeting concluded with a reading of Vincent Starrett's "221B" poem, followed by our singing of The Anthem.
Who never lived and so can never die:
How very near they seem, yet how remote
That age before the world went all awry.
But still the game's afoot for those with ears
Attuned to catch the distant view-halloo:
England is England yet, for all our fears -
Only those things the heart believes are true.
A yellow fog swirls past the window-pane
As night descends upon this fabled street:
A lonely hansom splashes through the rain,
The ghostly gas lamps fail at twenty feet.
Here, though the world explode, these two survive,
And it is always eighteen ninety-five.
Ode to Dr. Watsonby John McDonnell
Of all the many entertaining authors
Whose published books by some are fondly kept,
Have any matched your subtle pawky humor?
Were any at descriptions as adept?
Of course you had the great unique advantage
Of having such a gifted friend to know,
And living at a time we view as charming,
From those quaint glimpses that your stories show.
But still, the manner of your stories' tellings
Stirs up imaginings more than a guess.
We've shuddered at portrayals of the villains.
We've warmed to view the damsels in distress.
And as for Holmes, you've made him such a hero,
We'd no doubt swarm to get his autograph,
And search his face to sense the egotism
That never fails to make our spirits laugh.
Then cheers from all for sturdy Dr. Watson!
The one fixed point within all changing scenes.
His writings cause some pilgrimage to London
Or shorter jaunts to local silver screens.