The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
The best of all things to an end must come