The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum