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!