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Required Reading

Thus, finding his renown was fading,

Melville sped his downhill slide,

Writing only bills of lading

And drove his son to suicide.

If Keats thought he could carry on

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Like Milton, hubris was his sin:

His book about Hyperion

Went straight to the remainder bin.

Of Dodgson's dodgy tastes, the truth

Is something we can only guess:

He posed that uncorrupted youth

In wanton stages of undress;

While Dickinson, averse to fun,

Would hardly ever leave her room;

And even Hawthorne's friends would shun

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