1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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