They ask “What of this Donald Trump?”—but
elections leave me in a grump.
Thus, I submit to Queenly sway
and ancient Albion’s Sovereignty.
They ask “What of this old tradition?
Surely such talk’s the new sedition?”
At least, I say, I don’t believe
In empty words by fiends contriv’d.
They cry “Remember ’89!
With Robespierre and thinkers fine!”
Of course such men I shan’t forget,
who with the fires of Hell are met.
They say to me “How could you so
defend these olden things you know?
The years have turned, the age is new,
none sit upon the church’s pew.”
I smile at them, such neo-bores,
who ages’ wisdom do ignore:
Chateaubriand made good with me,
it’s not my fault if you can’t see.
Here comes the rage of provocation
“How could you show such indignation?!”
Their anger is a fit of Bedlam.
Come back to me when you have read them.
By honour I’m a monarchist—a
conservative from Reason’s tryst,
and liberal when passion’s sent
towards my tastes and temperament.
This post was originally published by the author on his personal blog: https://occidentalalmanack.wordpress.com/2018/01/03/they-who-ask-a-poem/