1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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