1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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