The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The understanding critic firstly sees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The best of all things to an end must come