The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum