The Duke was in his hammock and a thousand miles away ('@3London on the line, your Grace; for you@1') Slung between the beech trees, one limpid day in May ('@3Bertie here — we're rather in a stew@1 ...') Yonder lay Westminster, yonder lay the House With politicians, oily through and through, And the endless gabbin' and the old back-stabbin'; But he saw his duty plainly as he'd always used to do. The Duke is a backwoodsman, and keeps his backwoods ground, (@3'London on the line, your Grace; for you'@1) Doesn't study politics, but knows which side is sound (@3'Bertie here — we're rather in a stew'@1) Call him from the grouse-moor, call him from the hunt, Call him when you need a vote or two. If you need ammunition to kill the opposition, He'll drum 'em through the lobbies as he's always used to do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOUL'S EXPRESSION by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AT THE SEASIDE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TIME'S PENDULUM by GRACE O. BOLSTAD |