1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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