From the Evening Star, October 19, 1912. By Philander Johnson. As orators with words so fair And promises so fine With eloquence filled all the air And thrilled your heart and mine, We’d listen for a little while Before we turned away And murmured with a cynic smile, “They don’t mean all they say.” The eagerness of good intent That kept their hearts so warm Led them to promise as they went More than they could perform. In hope’s glad sunshine they came out To make ambition’s hay. They never heard our word of doubt, “They can’t mean all they say!” Now darker banners they unfurl, Their words bring strange regret. Instead of promises they hurl An angry epithet. But to our comment old we cling, And vow with hearts all gay That time its usual change will bring, They don’t mean all they say.