1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum

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