Shapes of Clay

Dom Pedro, Emperor of far Brazil

(Whence coffee comes and the three-cornered nut),

They say that you're imperially ill,

And threatened with paralysis. Tut-tut!

Though Emperors are mortal, nothing but

A nimble thunderbolt could catch and kill

A man predestined to depart this life

By the assassin's bullet, bomb or knife.

Sir, once there was a President who freed

Ten million slaves; and once there was a Czar

Who freed five times as many serfs. Sins breed

The means of punishment, and tyrants are

Hurled headlong out of the triumphal car

If faster than the law allows they speed.

Lincoln and Alexander struck a rut;

You freed slaves too. Paralysis—tut-tut!

1885.