1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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