The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
The best of all things to an end must come