1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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