Classic Poem

A country that rejoices at formal outward propriety
but indulges in imprudent caprice,
a country without the patience of the Chinese
but with a shallow egocentricity,
a country without America's wealth
but that imitates it anyway,
a country where mistrust and trembling terror mingle,
a country where the men, all hunched over, become fatalists,
a country of good fortune and peace:
May it live a hundred
million years!