1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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