1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come
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