1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
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
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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