1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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