1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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