He was personally fatuous and horrid, He was ugly, he was cruel, he was mean, His talk was diabolically torrid, He was just about the crudest ever seen; But his paper ran the universe to suit it, Censored architecture, poetry, and art; As to genius, did not hesitate to boot it, While it settled all affairs of home and heart. He was wallowing in debt up to the limit, He was hated by his neighbors and his wife, He was in the social swim but couldn't swim it, He had made a total failure of his life; But in print he was a master of finances, Pointed out the many ways the tariff robs, Led statistics through the intricatest dances, And showed the statesmen how to run their jobs. Oh, the printing-press is wonderfully clever; As a miracle machine it's out of sight; It can take a chap who is the lowest ever, And transform him to a minister of light. It can squeeze eternal wisdom from a ninny, To a Washington an Arnold can convert; It can change Petroleum Nasby to a Pliny, And contrive a handsome dividend from dirt! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: CUPID AND VENUS by MARK ALEXANDER BOYD BERTHA IN THE LANE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE BLACK RIDERS: 38 by STEPHEN CRANE EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: BOMBER IN LONDON by RUDYARD KIPLING THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS by THOMAS MOORE JIM'S WHIP by BARCROFT HENRY BOAKE WHEN LOVE MEETS LOVE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |