1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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