1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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