The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
That hordes of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The Turks said just take anything you please
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changeling drops like kings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The peasant's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
And starve the snivelling baby like a dog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The best of all things to an end must come