The poem
They thought I'd be a champion; They boasted loud of me. A dozen victories I'd won, The Press was proud of me. I saw myself with glory crowned, And would, beyond a doubt, Till last night in the second round A Dago knocked me out.
It must have been an accident; I cannot understand. For I was so damn confident I'd lick him with one hand. I bounded in the ring to cheers; I panted for the fray: Ten minutes more with hoots and jeers They bore me limp away.
I will not have the nerve to face The sporting mob today; The doll I fell for--my disgrace Will feel and fade away. Last night upon the brink of fame No favour did I lack: Tomorrow from the sink of shame I'll beg my old job back.