1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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