Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)

Spats

When young I was a Socialist
Despite my tender years;
No blessed chance I ever missed
To slam the profiteers.
Yet though a fanatic I was,
And cursed aristocrats,
The Party chucked me out because
I sported Spats.

Aye, though on soap boxes I stood,
And spouted in the parks,
They grizzled that my foot-wear would
Be disavowed my Marx.
It's buttons of a pearly sheen
Bourgois they deemed and thus
They told me; 'You must choose between
Your spats and us.'

Alas! I loved my gaitered feet
Of smoothly fitting fawn;
They were so snappy and so neat,
A gift from Uncle John
Who had a fortune in the Bank
That one day might be mine:
'Give up my spats!' said I, 'I thank
You--but resign.'

Today when red or pink I see
In stripy pants of state,
I think of how they lost in me
A demon of debate.
I muse as leaders strut about
In frock-coats and high hats...
The bloody party chucked me out
Because of Spats.

1. Old Sweethearts
2. The Silent Ones
3. Prelude (They say that rhyme and rhythm are)
4. Last Look
5. The Bohemian Dreams

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1604

Последние стихотворения

To English version