1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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