<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Subdued Editor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pope-choker Pixley sat in his den<br>A-chewin' upon his quid.<br>He thought it was Leo Thirteen, and then<br>He bit it intenser, he did.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The amber which overflew from the cud<br>Like rivers which burst out of bounds<br>'Twas peculiar grateful to think it blood<br>A-gushin' from Papal wounds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A knockin' was heard uponto the door<br>Where some one a-waitin' was.<br>'Come in,' said the shedder of priestly gore,<br>Arrestin' to once his jaws.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The person which entered was curly of hair<br>And smilin' as ever you see;<br>His eyes was blue, and uncommon fair<br>Was his physiognomee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet there was some'at remarkable grand<br>And the editor says as he looks:<br>'Your Height' (it was Highness, you understand,<br>That he meant, but he spoke like books)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Your Height, I am in. I'm the editor man<br>Of this paper-which is to say,<br>I'm the owner, too, and it's alway ran<br>In the independentest way!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Not a damgaloot can interfere,<br>A-shapin' my course for me:<br>This paper's (and nothing can make it veer)<br>Pixleian in policee!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It's little to me,' said the sunny youth,<br>'If journals is better or worse<br>Where I am to home they won't keep, in truth,<br>The climate is that perverse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I've come, howsomever, your mind to light<br>With a more superior fire:<br>You'll have naught hencefor'ard to do but write,<br>While I sets by and inspire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'We'll make it hot all round, bedad!'<br>And his laughture was loud and free.<br>'The devil!' cried Pixley, surpassin' mad.<br>'Exactly, my friend-that's me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So he took a chair and a feather fan,<br>And he sets and sets and sets,<br>Inspirin' that humbled editor man,<br>Which sweats and sweats and sweats!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All unavailin' his struggles be,<br>And it's, O, a weepin' sight<br>To see a great editor bold and free<br>Reducted to sech a plight!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342991" data-title="The Subdued Editor de Ambrose Bierce" data-description="Pope-choker Pixley sat in his den A-chewin' upon his quid. He thought it was Leo Thirteen, and then He bit it intenser, he did. The amber which overflew from the cud Like rivers which burst out of bounds 'Twas peculiar grateful to think it blood ..."></div> </div> </div>

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