1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum