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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408689" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Next Door</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whenever I’m moving my furniture in<br>Or shifting my furniture out—<br>Which is nearly as often and risky as Sin<br>In these days of shifting about—<br>There isn’t a stretcher, there isn’t a stick,<br>Nor a mat that belongs to the floor;<br>There isn’t a pot (Oh, my heart groweth sick!)<br>That escapes from the glare of Next Door!<br>The Basilisk Glare of Next Door. <br>Be it morn, noon or night—be it early or late;<br>Be it summer or winter or spring,<br>I cannot sneak down just to list at the gate<br>For the song that the bottle-ohs sing;<br>With some bottles to sell that shall bring me a beer,<br>And lead up to one or two more;<br>But I feel in my backbone the serpentine sneer,<br>And the Basilisk Glare of Next Door.<br>The political woman Next Door. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I really can’t say, being no one of note,<br>Why she glares at my odds and my ends,<br>Excepting, maybe, I’m a frivolous Pote,<br>With one or two frivolous friends,<br>Who help me to shift and to warm up the house<br>For three or four glad hours or more,<br>In a suburb that hasn’t the soul of a louse;<br>And they’ve got no respect for Next Door!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They don’t give a damn for Next Door<br>.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408689" data-title="Next Door de Henry Lawson" data-description="Whenever I’m moving my furniture in
Or shifting my furniture out—
Which is nearly as often and risky as Sin
In these days of shifting about—
There isn’t a stretcher, there isn’t a stick,
Nor a mat that belongs to the floor;
There isn’t..."></div>
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