T. R. to W. H. T.
“I was a king in Babylon And you were a christian slave.”
Or ever the knightly fight was on, The skirmish of smear and smudge, I was a King in Washington And you were a circuit judge.
I saw, I took, I made you great, Friendly I called you Will, And back in Nineteen Hundred and Eight, Out in Chicago, Ill., I made the convention nominate, And now—the terrible chill.
For many a sun has set and shone On the path we used to trudge When I was a King in Washington And you were a circuit judge.
I passed the lie and you passed it back; You said I was all untruth;I said that honesty was your lack;