| Poem: |
There is a certain yankee phrase
I always have revered,
yet, somehow, in these modern days,
it's almost disappeared;
it was the usage years ago,
but nowadays it's got
to be regarded coarse and low
to answer: "I guess not!"
The height of fashion called the pink
affects a british craze--
prefers "I fancy" or "I think"
to that time-honored phrase;
but here's a yankee, if you please,
that brands the fashion rot,
and to all heresies like these
he answers, "I--guess not!"--
When chaucer, wycliff, and the rest
express their meaning thus,
I guess, if not the very best,
it's good enough for us!
Why! Shall the idioms of our speech
be banished and forgot
for this vain trash which moderns teach?
Well, no, sir; I guess not!
There's meaning in that homely phrase
no other words express--
no substitute therefor conveys
such unobtrusive stress.
True anglo-saxon speech, it goes
directly to the spot,
and he who hears it always knows
the worth of "I--guess--not!"
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