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C J Dennis - Anticlimax
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Now, my gift of crude invective is astonishingly high,
   And I`ve quite a flair for fierce vituperation,
But I have to sit and watch the precious moments drifting by,
   Just because my countrymen seek moderation.
But, ah, what verbal lightnings round my foeman`s head might play
If I once became a freeman of the candid U.S.A.

Now "a partly vocal crea puff with a taste for comic song"
   Seems forced and weak and unimaginative;
While an "economic shyster" I consider far from strong
   In an artist with a claim to be creative.
I`d surely think of terser terms, original and tense
To fling abroad, while keeping to the strict Pickwickian sense.

For I have walked with bullockies back of the far Barcoo;
   I`ve drunk with shearers, hit the track with stockmen;
And surely there is none upon the earth, I don`t care who,
   More famed for epithets that truly shock men.
Oh, I could "trade a line of talk" to sting a heart of wood
Or blister brazen monkeys -- well, I mean, I think I could.

Yet, when I reconsider it and con my lessons o`er,
   I begin to doubt these mighty reputations;
Robbed of their scarlet adjective, their minds seem but a store
   Of long outworn and crude reiterations,
And the fiercest trick of speech that these, my mates, can teach me now
Is to shake the ambient ether with, "Oh, `im?  They silly cow!"
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