1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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