The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
The understanding critic firstly sees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The best of all things to an end must come