Dora Sigerson Shorter

“ How all the small folk hated you, big John!
As you grew fat their little pastures on;
And yet they quailed before you, or your state,
And walked behind you—all save little Kate!
She could not tame you with her gentle ways
Yet her right anger filled you with amaze.
When she would face you, giving jeer for jeer,
You struck her down, and laughed to see her tear.
With her great heart for pity not too strong,
Yet not too weak for anger at the wrong
You loved to plague her with, as when a child
You gave her grief if e'er you thought she smiled. ”

“ Of all good things you took the lion's share.
In foreign lands, half naked, they slaved on
To gather gold to heap your plate upon;
You'd swagger past, proud of their dull amaze,
In Royal purple, eager for all praise. ”

“ Plain Hodge, make blue the plebeian blood that ran
To warm the grocer of those early days,
Who sanded sugar and who mixed his tea
Before he bowed in Sunday sanctity,
With that lank Scotsman who your partner was.
Ah, no, I never liked you, John, because
You were a braggart and a pharisee,
Held many slaves, yet prated “Liberty.”
Your sweated people toiled to make you great,
Swept out your store and laboured long and late. ”