1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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