He bent right down to pick up his valise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum