1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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