The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum