1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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