Pavements a-frying in street and in square,
Never a breeze in the blistering air,
Never a place where a fellow can run
Out of the shine of the sizzling sun: 
“General Humidity” having his way,
Killing us off by the hundred a day;
Mercury climbing the tube like a shot,—­
Suffering Caesar!  I tell you it’s hot!

Collar kerflummoxed all over my neck,
Necktie and bosom and wristbands a wreck,
Handkerchief dripping and worn to a shred
Mopping and scouring my face and my head;
Simply ablaze from my head to my feet,
Back all afire with the prickles of heat,—­
Not on my cuticle one easy spot,—­
Jiminy Moses!  I tell you it’s hot!

Give me a fan and a seat in the shade,
Bring me a bucket of iced lemonade;
Dress me in naught but the thinnest of clothes,
Start up the windmill and turn on the hose: 
Set me afloat from my toes to my chin,
Open the ice-box and fasten me in,—­
If it should freeze me, why, that matters not,—­
Brimstone and blazes!  I tell you it’s HOT!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “Collar kerflummoxed all over my neck.”]

SUMMER NIGHTS AT GRANDPA’S

Summer nights at Grandpa’s—­ain’t they soft and still! 
Just the curtains rustlin’ on the window-sill,
And the wind a-blowin’, warm and wet and sweet—­
Smellin’ like the meadows or the fields of wheat;
Just the bullfrogs pipin’ in amongst the grass,
Where the water’s shinin’ like a lookin’-glass;
Just a dog a-barkin’ somewheres up along,
So far off his yelpin’ ’s like a kind of song.

Summer nights at Grandpa’s—­hear the crickets sing,
And the water bubblin’ down beside the spring;
Hear the cattle chewin’ fodder in the shed,
And an owl a-hootin’ high up overhead;
Hear the “way-off noises,” faint and awful far—­
So mixed-up a feller do’n’t know what they are—­
But so sort er lazy that they seem ter keep
Sayin’ over ‘n’ over, “Sonny, go ter sleep.”

Summer nights at Grandpa’s—­ain’t it fun ter lay
In the early mornin’ when it’s gettin’ day—­
When the sun is risin’ and it’s fresh and cool,
And you ‘re feelin’ happy coz there ain’t no school?—­
When you hear the crowin’ as the rooster wakes,
And you think of breakfast and the buckwheat cakes;
Sleepin’ in the city’s too much fuss and noise;
Summer nights at Grandpa’s are the things for boys.

* * * * *

GRANDFATHER’S “SUMMER SWEETS”

Grandfather’s “summer sweets” are ripe. 
  Out on the gnarled old tree,
Out where the robin redbreasts pipe,
  And buzzes the bumblebee;
Swinging high on the bending bough,
  Scenting the lazy breeze,
What is the gods’ ambrosia now
  To apples of gold like these?

Ruddy the blush of their maiden cheeks
  After the sunbeam’s kiss—­
Every quivering leaflet speaks,
  Telling a tale of bliss;
Telling of dainties hung about,
  Each in a verdant wreath,
Shimmering satin all without,
  Honey and cream beneath.