The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The genealogist with field and fess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Bard I adore your endless monologue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The best of all things to an end must come