Suaviter in modo's hard
When poets trample one's front yard,
And this is such an enormous crew
That you've got trailing after you!
I'd washed my youngest child but four,
Put the milk-bottles out the door,
Paid my wife's hat-bill with no sigh
(Ah, happy wife! Ah, happy I!)
Tossed down (see essays) then my pen
To be a private citizen,