Hay Fever

If you can face a ragweed without sneezing
And walk undaunted past a stack of hay;
If you can find a field of daisies pleasing,
And not require ten handkerchiefs a day;
If you can stroll in meadowland and orchard
And greet the goldenrod with gay surprise,
And not be most abominably tortured
By swollen nose and bloodshot, flaming eyes;
If you can go on sneezing like a geyser
And never utter one unmeasured curse;
If you can squeeze the useless atomiser
Nor look with envy on each passing hearse;
If you can still be merry in September,
And not lay plans to drown yourself in drink,
Then your career is something to remember,
And you deserve an Iron Cross, I think!