 | Poems by John Godfrey Saxe. Complete in one volume : thirty-fifth edition |  |
58
THE DOG-DAYS.
“Hot! hot!—all piping hot.”—
City Cries.
City Cries.
Heaven help us all in these terrific days!
The burning sun upon the earth is pelting
With his directest, fiercest, hottest rays,
And everything is melting!
The burning sun upon the earth is pelting
With his directest, fiercest, hottest rays,
And everything is melting!
Fat men, infatuate, fan the stagnant air,
In rash essay to cool their inward glowing,
While with each stroke, in dolorous despair,
They feel the fever growing!
In rash essay to cool their inward glowing,
While with each stroke, in dolorous despair,
They feel the fever growing!
The lean and lathy find a fate as hard,
For, all a-dry, they burn like any tinder
Beneath the solar blaze, till withered, charred,
And crisped away to cinder!
For, all a-dry, they burn like any tinder
Beneath the solar blaze, till withered, charred,
And crisped away to cinder!
E'en Stoics now are in the melting mood,
And vestal cheeks are most unseemly florid;
The very zone that girts the frigid prude
Is now intensely torrid!
And vestal cheeks are most unseemly florid;
The very zone that girts the frigid prude
Is now intensely torrid!
59
The dogs lie lolling in the deepest shade;
The pigs are all a-wallow in the gutters,
And not a household creature—cat or maid,
But querulously mutters!
The pigs are all a-wallow in the gutters,
And not a household creature—cat or maid,
But querulously mutters!
‘'Tis dreadful, dreadful hot!’ exclaims each one
Unto his sweating, sweltering, roasting neighbor,
Then mops his brow, and sighs, as he had done
A quite herculean labor!
Unto his sweating, sweltering, roasting neighbor,
Then mops his brow, and sighs, as he had done
A quite herculean labor!
And friends who pass each other in the town
Say no good-morrows when they come together,
But only mutter, with a dismal frown,
‘What horrid, horrid weather!’
Say no good-morrows when they come together,
But only mutter, with a dismal frown,
‘What horrid, horrid weather!’
While prudent mortals curb with strictest care
All vagrant curs, it seems the queerest puzzle
The Dog-star rages rabid through the air,
Without the slightest muzzle!
All vagrant curs, it seems the queerest puzzle
The Dog-star rages rabid through the air,
Without the slightest muzzle!
But Jove is wise and equal in his sway,
Howe'er it seems to clash with human reason,
His fiery dogs will soon have had their day,
And men shall have a season!
Howe'er it seems to clash with human reason,
His fiery dogs will soon have had their day,
And men shall have a season!
| Poems by John Godfrey Saxe. Complete in one volume : thirty-fifth edition | |