1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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