6 JUNE 1958, Page 24

On Being Insulted by a Popular Journalist

So this is how it stands : a lout Can hawk, and gather up his phlegm And, grinning, spit it in my face

As I walk by; and all without.

The fear of censure or disgrace.

His friends see nothing to condemn, His enemies avert their eyes, His masters would approve the deed.

Did I foresee when I began The air so filled with rancorous cries, The granite that rejects the seed, The spite of every ignorant man? But patience : those who climb the path To where those fruits and flowers grow Which I have travelled far to seek May never halt or swerve for wrath : Muse, is it not a boast to show His spittle hanging from my cheek?

JOHN WAIN