I cannot flap a flag Or beat a drum; Behind the mob I lag With larynx dumb; Alas! I fear I'm not A Patriot. With acrid eyes I see The soul of things; And equal unto me Are cooks and kings; I would not cross the street A duke to meet. Oh curse me for a fool To be so proud; To stand so still and cool Amid the crowd. For President or Peer God, let me cheer! But no, despite the glee My heart is cold; I think that it may be Because I'm old; I'm dumb where millions yell . . . Oh what the hell!