1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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