The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb