In his poem entitled "Longings" he uses this language: "Oh, sing to me, darling, a sweet song to-night, While I bask in the smile of thine eyes, While I kiss those dear lips in the dark silent room, And whisper my saddening good-byes." Now, you see how it is yourself, Grady, don't you?
How is she going to sing to him while he kisses those lips, and how is he going to whisper good-bye?
Isn't that awful slush?
Now, isn't it?
And then, if the room is dark, what I want to know is how he's going to tell whether her eyes are smiling or not?
Mr.Grady, either the man is insane or I am; and if your butcher is going to stab Markley, you'll oblige me by telling him that I want him to jab him deep, and maybe fill him up with poison or something to make it absolutely certain.
"'I know that when he sent me that poem about "The Unknown" I parsed it, and examined it with a microscope, and sent it around to a chemist's to be analyzed, but hang me if I know yet what he's driving at when he says, "The uffish spectral gleaming of that wild resounding clang Came hooting o'er the margin of the dusky moors that hang Like palls of inky darkness where the hoarse, weird raven calls, And the bhang-drunk Hindoo staggers on and on until he falls." Isn't that--Well, now, isn't that just the most fearful mess of stuff that was ever ground out of a lunatic asylum ?' "'It's the awfullest I ever saw.' "'Well, then, I get eighteen of them a week, and they madden me.
They keep my brain in a frenzied whirl.

Grady, this man must die.
Self-preservation is the first law of nature.

I have a wife and children; I conduct a great paper; I educate the public mind.

My life is valuable to my country.

Destroy this poet, and future generations will praise your name.