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 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
[Judge Sawyer, whom in vain the people tried]
Judge Sawyer, whom in vain the people triedTo push from power, here is laid aside.
Death only from the bench could ever start
That clinging surface, his immortal part.
376
This wooden monument we rear
In memory of Dr. May,
Whose smile even Death could not allay.
He's buried, Heaven alone knows where,
And only the hyenas care;
This May-pole merely marks the spot
Where, ere the wretch began to rot,
Fame's trumpet, with its brazen bray,
Bawled: “Who (and why) was Dr. May?”
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |