1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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