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1866–1932

THE DILETTANT.

Edmund Vance Cooke

To lie outright in the light of day I'm not sufficiently skilful, But I practice a bit, in an amateur way, The lie which is hardly wilful;

The society lie and the business lie And the lie I have had to double, And the lie that I lie when I do n't know why And the truth is too much trouble.

For this I am willing to take your blame Unless you have sometimes done the same. To be a fool of an A brand I'm not sufficiently clever,

But I often have tried my‘ prentice hand In a callow and crude endeavor; A fool with the money for which I've toiled, A fool with the word I've spoken,

And the foolish fool who is fooled and foiled On a maiden's finger broken. If you never yourself have made a slip, I'm willing to watch you curl your lip.

And yet my blood and my bone resist If you dub me fool and liar. I set my teeth and double my fist And my brow is flushed with fire.

You I deny and you I defy And I vow I will make you rue it; And I lie when I say that I never lie, Which proves me a fool to do it!

You may jerk your thumb at me and grin If liar and fool you never have been.

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THE DILETTANT. · Edmund Vance Cooke · Poetry Cove