1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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