As seen through Teuton Eyes.
These English--who can know their ways?
When, flushed with triumphs large and many,
We condescend with tactful signs
To hint of peace on generous lines
They answer in a flippant phrase
That they're "not taking any."
When from our conquering High-Seas Ark
(Detained at home by stress of weather)
We loosed the emblematic dove,
Conveying overtures of love,
Back came the bird with that remark,
Minus its best tail feather.
They said they never wanted war;
Yet, when we talk of war's abating,
And name the price for them to pay,
They have the curious nerve to say
That, when they please, and not before,
They'll do their own dictating.
How can you deal with minds so slow,
With men who give no indication
That we by any further shock
Into their heads can hope to knock
Enough intelligence to know
That they're a beaten nation?
Odd that we cannot make it clear
That we have won; and even odder
That other markets seem to jump,
While our exchange is on the slump,
And everything's starvation-dear
(Excepting cannon-fodder). O. S.
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