1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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