Go along that road, and look at sorrow.Every window grumbles.All day long the drizzle fills the puddles,Trickles in the runnels and the gutters,Drips and drops and dripples, and drops and dribbles,While the melancholy aspidistraFrowns between the parlour curtains.
Uniformity, dull Master!.-Birth and marriage, middle-age and death;Rain and gossip: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday .Àæ
Sure, the lovely fools who made UtopiaPlanned it without any aspidistra.There will be a heaven on earth, but firstWe must banish from the parlourPlush and poker-work and paper flowers,Brackets, staring photographs and what-nots,Serviettes, frills and etageres,Anti-macassars, vases, chiffoniers;
And the gloomy aspidistraGlowering through the window-pane,Meditating heavy maxims,Moralising to the rain.
