1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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