1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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