[A Wireless Press telegram says: "The German Imperial train has reached
Constantinople in order to transport the Sultan to Vienna, to take part in
the conference of Sovereigns to be held there."]
I hate all trains and told them so;
I said that I should much prefer
(Being, as Allah knows, no traveller)
To stick to Stamboul and the _status quo_.
They said, "If you would rather walk,
Pray do so; it will save the fare;"
Which shows that WILLIAM (who will take the Chair)
Insists that I shall come and hear him talk.
I've never tried a train before;
It makes me sick; it knocks my nerves;
The noises and the tunnels and the curves
Add a new horror to the woes of war.
What am I here for, anyhow?
I'm summoned for appearance' sake,
To nod approval at the Chief, but take
No further part in his one-man pow-wow.
My job is just to sit, it seems,
And act the silent super's _rôle_,
The while I wish myself, with all my soul,
Safe back in one or more of my hareems.
I'd let the Conference go hang;
Any who likes can have my pew
And play at peace-talk with this pirate crew,
WILLIAM and KARL and FERDIE--what a gang!
Our Chairman wants to save his skin
And (curse this train!) to cook a plan
For Germany to pouch what spoils she can--
All very nice; but where do I come in?
At best I'm but the missing link
Upon his Berlin-Baghdad line;
This is the senior partner's show, not mine;
Will he consult my feelings? I don't think.
If Russia's gain should mean my loss,
He'll wince at Teuton schemes cut short,
But for my grief, expelled from my own Porte,
Will he care greatly? Not one little toss.
Well, as I've said and said again,
'Tis Fate (Kismet), and, should it frown,
We Faithful have to take it lying down--
And yet, by Allah, how I loathe this train!