1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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