1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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