1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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