Harry Graham (48)

Ein Gedicht zum Ende des Wahlkampfs aus »Canned Classics«:

Harry Graham: The Craven (With Apologies to Edgar Allen Poe)

(At the last General Election the Unionist and Liberal candidates for Chelsea both enjoyed the name of Hoare.)

Ah! distinctly I remember, 'twas an evening in November,
   When I canvassed for the Member whose rosette I proudly wore,
Rousing voters to reflection on the Veto and Protection,
   Handing tracts in each direction, thrusting bills through ev'ry door,
   Till I reached the Chelsea section, where each rival's name is Hoare,
                 Simply that and nothing more!

There I argued with each zany, and cajoled the bright and brainy,
   In the district labelled Cheyné (where Carlyle abode of yore),
Till I found a man, a craven, with his feeble chin unshaven,
   Ev'ry window of whose haven a perplexing placard bore,
   'Twas a poster neatly graven with the motto: »Vote for Hoare!«
                 Only that and nothing more!

»Tell me which,« I asked him, snorting, »of the two you are supporting;
   On your window-sills the sporting of such posters I deplore;
Be you dunderhead or scholar« (here I seized him by the collar),
   »Will you brook the Yankee Dollar being dumped on Britain's shore?
   Do you fancy, in your squalor, that your food will cost you more?«
                 Quoth the craven: »Vote for Hoare!«

My acquaintance thus I rallied, till I grew fatigued and pallid,
   But my arguments (though valid) he continued to ignore;
»Shall an alien contribution help to wreck the Constitution?«
   I inquired, in consecution, till my throat was dry and sore.
   »Are you keen on Devolution? Tell me frankly, I implore!«
                 Quoth the craven: »Vote for Hoare!«