1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come