English poem
X
by Bret Harte
E'en the first day he touched a blackboard's space-- So the tradition of his glory lingers-- Two wise professors fainted, each with face White as the chalk within his rapid fingers: All day he ciphered, at such frantic pace, His form was hid in chalk precipitation Of every problem, till they said his case Could meet from them no fair examination Till Congress made a new appropriation.