Cold-slawCollective opacityExpectation of those who will come no moreFelt that this was my misfortune more than my faultFound life was not all poetryHe had no time to make moneyIntellectual poseursNo time to make moneyNYC, a city where money counts for more and goes for lessOne could be openly poor in Cambridge without open shamePut your finger on the present moment and enjoy itStandards were their own, and they were satisfied with themWonderful to me how it should remain so unintelligible
End of Project Gutenberg's Cambridge Neighbors, by William Dean Howells