1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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