Excuse if I measure after the bolt, but,
where it was as if the bit of muffin on Pecksniff's trouser knee
WAS his evil genius,
was THAT where Dickens knew
that 'Chuz' would be his favorite,
and his last picaresque;
and that hard times now called
for his genius for evil,
for a curb to 'Todger's jovial brood',
for bleakness, and,
if there was time,
for 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood'?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem