1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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