To German trade and German bands,
And how in Argentine and Sweden
And all that's left of neutral lands
To build a German Eden.

True he employed a secret code,
But who would guess at guile in that?
Unless he used the cryptic mode
He couldn't be a diplomat;
He wished (we thought) to be discreet,
Telling his friends how frail and fair is
The exotic feminine you meet
In bounteous Buenos Aires.

Why, then, should mud be thrown so hard
At Stockholm's faith? She merely meant
To show a neighbourly regard
Towards a nice belligerent;
For peaceful massage she was made;
Aloof from martial animosities,
She yearns with fingers gloved in suède
To temper war's callosities.

Such courtesy (one would have said)
Amid the waste of savage strife
Tends to maintain--what else were dead--
The sweet amenities of life;
And seeking ends so pure, so good,
So innocent, it _does_ surprise her
To be so much misunderstood