There's rue for you, and some for me,
But you must wear it differently.
Quite true, of course. This pipe, I see,
Draws hard. They sometimes do, you know.
Alas, if we in fancy's train
To drowse beside our fires are fain,
Letting the world slip by amain,
Uneager of its verities,
Our neighbors will not let us be
At peace with inutility.