The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum