Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum