1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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