Guard well your doors from that old man!

    He comes with a careless "How d'ye do?"

    And seats himself in my elbow-chair;

    And my morning paper and pamphlet new

    Fall forthwith under his special care,

    And he wipes his glasses and clears his throat,

    And, button by button, unfolds his coat.

    And then he reads from paper and book,

    In a low and husky asthmatic tone,

    With the stolid sameness of posture and look

    Of one who reads to himself alone;

    And hour after hour on my senses come

    That husky wheeze and that dolorous hum.

    The price of stocks, the auction sales,

    The poet's song and the lover's glee,

    The horrible murders, the sea-board gales,

    The marriage list, and the

     jeu d'esprit

    ,

    All reach my ear in the self-same tone,—

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