1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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