1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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