1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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