1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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