1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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