1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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