1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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