1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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