He bent right down to pick up his valise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb