1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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