1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase