1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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