Poetry Archives

I cannot flap a flag
          Or beat a drum;
Behind the mob I lag
          With larynx dumb;
Alas! I fear I’m not
          A Patriot.

With acrid eyes I see
          The soul of things;
And equal unto me
          Are cooks and kings;
I would not cross the street
          A duke to meet.

Oh curse me for a fool
          To be so proud;
To stand so still and cool
          Amid the crowd.
For President or Peer
          God, let me cheer!

But no, despite the glee
          My heart is cold;
I think that it may be
          Because I’m old;
I’m dumb where millions yell . . .
          Oh what the hell!