1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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