At five precisely out went La Marquise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
The best of all things to an end must come