And the sun will shine far brighter—this at least, I think, is clear—
In a sweet and unpolluted and unsmoky atmosphere.
Along the streets the citizens in comfort then will fare,
"All delicately marching through the clear pellucid air,"
The patron of the music hall once more will freely breathe,
And the crowd, bereft of baccy, soon will almost cease to "seethe."
No more the luckless passenger will cough, and gasp, and choke,
As he swallows on the 'bus-top a pernicious blend of smoke,
No more we'll watch the cricket at the Oval through a haze
That cigars and cigarettes and pipes innumerable raise.