At five precisely out went La Marquise
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
His toga rumpled high above his knees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The genealogist with field and fess
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum