1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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