1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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