1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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