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.

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

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.