1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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