1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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