1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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