See, this Lord Byron poem below did NOT, somehow, make it to my reading list. It was written on the death of Castlereagh, the former foreign secretary.
Now, although I myself know nothing about Castlereagh, my finely-tuned artistic sensibilities allow me to discern, through the shades and nuances of this fine poetry, Byron’s opinion of the man.
Posterity will ne’er survey
A nobler grave that this.
Here lie the bones of Castlereagh:
Stop, traveler, and piss.
*wipes a tear from her eye*
Ah, Byron. You did have a way with words.