To The Lord Of Potsdam

[On sending a certain telegram.]     Majestic Monarch! whom the other gods,         For fear of their immediate removal,     Consulting hourly, seek your awful nod's                 Approval;     Lift but your little finger up to strike,         And lo! 'the massy earth is riven' (Shelley),     The habitable globe is shaken like                 A jelly.     By your express permission for the last         Eight years the sun has regularly risen;     And editors, that questioned this, have passed                 To prison.     In Art you simply have to say, "I shall!"         Beethoven's fame is rendered transitory;     And Titian cloys beside your clever all-                 -egory.     We hailed you Admiral: your eagle sight         Foresaw Her Majesty's benign intentions;     A uniform was ready of the right                 Dimensions.     Your wardrobe shines with all the shapes and shades,         That genius can fix in fancy suitings;     For levees, false alarums, full parades                 And shootings.     But save the habit marks the man of gore         Your spurs are yet to win, my callow Kaiser!     Of fighting in the field you know no more                 Than I, Sir!     When Grandpapa was thanking God with hymns         For gallant Frenchmen dying in the ditches,     Your nurse had barely braced your little limbs                 In breeches.     And doubtless, where he roosts beside his bock,         The Game Old Bird that played the leading fiddle     Smiles grimly as he hears your perky cock-                 -a-diddle.     Be well advised, my youthful friend, abjure         These tricks that smack of Cleon and the tanners;     And let the Dutch instruct a German Boor                 In manners.     Nor were you meant to solve the nations' knots,         Or be the Earth's Protector, willy-nilly;     You only make yourself and royal Pots-                 -dam silly.     Our racing yachts are not at present dressed         In bravery of bunting to amuse you,     Nor can the licence of an honoured guest                 Excuse you.     But if your words are more than wanton play         And you would like to meet the old sea-rover,     Name any course from Delagoa Bay                 To Dover.     Meanwhile observe a proper reticence;         We ask no more; there never was a rumour     Of asking Hohenzollerns for a sense                 Of humour!