1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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