1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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