1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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