To think how poorly others felt the need
Of hygienic altitudes like ours;
And when night came, in tesselated rooms
We’d guess what style would be our home when means
Became unbounded, while the newest light
Stole through the patent economic lamps,
And every air-hole in the hollow bricks
Whistled and moaned in ghostly dissonance,
With coughing and the sneezes that gush forth
I’ the best o’ noses.—Dost thou like the picture?