You yell at everything; you yell and yell:
You would be horrified if all went well.
You yelled at Papandreou, worthy man,
A Socialist, a sound Republican.
Poor Papandreou might have won the crowd;
But he was finished—for you yelled too loud.
'Out of the frying-pan . . .' you yell, and pass
From Papandreou to a Plastiras.
And now, no doubt, you'll yell and yell again:
Or could you, could you, just for once, refrain?
It is not feasible—it is not fair—
To govern Athens from Trafalgar Square.
Your heart is huge, your intellect is large:
But then, you see, we've other men in charge.
And do not shed false tears for fighting Greece:
The last thing you are looking for is peace.
You are delighted. It would suit your game
If every land in Europe was the same.
What matters misery in Greece or Rome
If you can make some mischief here at home?
January 14, 1945