1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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