1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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