Robert Southey Burke speaks with raw bitterness about pouring his money, admiration, and youthful idealism into supporting A. D. Blood for mayor. He saw Blood as an almost perfect man and let that devotion consume him, reshaping his own hopes and beliefs into Blood’s image. When he finally recognized Blood’s small soul and false words—as artificial as porcelain teeth and celluloid cuffs—he felt betrayed and ashamed. He hated the love he had given, hated himself, and hated Blood for his wasted spirit and youth. The mood is bitter, self-lacerating, and deeply disillusioned. His closing warning to beware of ideals and of giving your love to any living man reads as both grief and a hard-won defense against future betrayal.
Robert Southey Burke — Summary
I spent my money trying to elect you Mayor A. D. Blood. I lavished my admiration upon you, You were to my mind the almost perfect man. You devoured my personality, And the idealism of my youth, And the strength of a high-souled fealty. And all my hopes for the world, And all my beliefs in Truth, Were smelted up in the blinding heat Of my devotion to you, And molded into your image. And then when I found what you were: That your soul was small And your words were false As your blue-white porcelain teeth, And your cuffs of celluloid, I hated the love I had for you, I hated myself, I hated you For my wasted soul, and wasted youth. And I say to all, beware of ideals, Beware of giving your love away To any man alive.