1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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