1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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