The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The best of all things to an end must come