The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
And let you off from your opinions glum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum