29 NOVEMBER 1963, Page 11

The Picnic

Let others picnic oil champagne And rich brown croutes of pink foie gras, Or greedily fierce vodka drain Helped dowel by heaps of caviar.

For others banquets fit, like these For Commissar or millionaire, Just give me beer, and bread and cheese To feast on in the open air.

For others, tongues of nightingales Preserved in rare, exotic spice, For others, ortolans and quails; Plain bread and cheese my needs suffice.

Yet when each picnic goes its way, Each down its several red lane, I shall have fared as well as they, And live just half as long again.