Poems (Howard)/Midsummer
For works with similar titles, see Midsummer.
Midsummer.
Was ever such caloric spilt Upon the desert air? Ere flaccid flesh shall further wilt, Oh, for a train, by Vanderb(u)ilt, To take us to those regions where The Esquimaux and polar bear Are reveling in their frozen lair!
The greenest leaves are curling up, The streams are running dry, The marigold and buttercup Arc drooping, thirsting for a sup Of some refreshing balm, while I Am trying hard to smother my Anathemas, hot July!
The pavements arc like burning stones; One hesitates to pass, For fear that flesh and blood and bones, The real wealth a person owns, Will be transformed into a mass Of radiance, like molten brass, Or vapor igneous as gas.
My neighbors all their blinds have drawn, And closed the portal tight, And hid the hammock from the lawn—They hope to make me think they 've gone Down to the sea for pure delight; But I justk now—I have no spite— They 're in the back yard day and night.
As milk will sour, so turneth fast My temper (never sweet); Uncertain 'tis how long will last Cette métamorphose, but, when past, Pray, what " corrective" shall I eat? For those experts who "can't be beat" Declare that sugar gives out heat.
They 're putting on—how kind they are! For that excursion, drawing nigh, A big "refrigerator car," To take us down to Ocean Bar. Oh, packed in ice, how sweet to lie! If envious crowds were standing by, 'T would be a luxury thus to die.