1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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