1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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