The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The genealogist with field and fess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum