1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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