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Title: True Diffidence
Author: W. S. Gilbert [
More Titles by Gilbert]
My boy, you may take it from me,
That of all the afflictions accurst
With which a man's saddled
And hampered and addled,
A diffident nature's the worst.
Though clever as clever can be--
A Crichton of early romance--
You must stir it and stump it,
And blow your own trumpet,
Or, trust me, you haven't a chance.
Now take, for example, my case:
I've a bright intellectual brain--
In all London city
There's no one so witty--
I've thought so again and again.
I've a highly intelligent face--
My features cannot be denied--
But, whatever I try, sir,
I fail in--and why, sir?
I'm modesty personified!
As a poet, I'm tender and quaint--
I've passion and fervor and grace--
From Ovid and Horace
To Swinburne and Morris,
They all of them take a back place,
Then I sing and I play and I paint;
Though none are accomplished as I,
To say so were treason:
You ask me the reason?
I'm diffident, modest and shy!
[The end]
W. S. Gilbert's poem: True Diffidence
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