The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The understanding critic firstly sees
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?