1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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