1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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