1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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