1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase