1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase