1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase