1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
← OPEN dataBase