And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air / Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there

to keep strict watch

Forsooth, Narcissus: by the same token he was turned to a daffodil, and as he died for love of himself, so, if you remember, there was an old ill-favoured, precious-nosed, babber-lipped, beetle-browed, blear-eyed, slouch-eared slave that, looking himself by chance in a glass, died for pure hate.

But in spite of the antics of its Bible thumpers and its boobocracy, my father was unable to stay mad at the United States for long.