Dear Mr. Taft, so smiling sweet, So quiet-kind And most agreeable to meet, Say, are you blind? The country 'd rather have a frown Breeding dismay; We want -- and want it done up brown -- A grand-stand play. Where are your thrillers, flaming fire, Taunt tournaments, Such as we properly desire From Presidents? This calmness, this judicial air Is not the way; Give us the boom, the blast, the blare, The grand-stand play. We do not care for balanced phrase Of bench and bar; We want the glitter and the blaze Of wordy war. We do not seek the level view, The steady ray; But all the country wants from you A grand-stand play. Come, get a move on, Mr. Taft! Cut out your desk. Be noisy, be a little daft, Be picturesque. We want to be amused, and thrilled, And jarred, and gay; We want, in flaming letters billed, A grand-stand play. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...METRICAL FEET by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ALEXANDER CRUMMELL - DEAD by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY SESTINA: ALTAFORTE by EZRA POUND TO - (3) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ON THE VIRGINITY OF THE VIRGIN MARY AND JOHANNA SOUTHCOTT by WILLIAM BLAKE |