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English classical scholar, poet, & satirist
1859 - 1936
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.
In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
Who made the world I cannot tell 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.
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