Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
Wystan Hugh Auden
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-a-tyrant-2/
