WHEN I was young, throughout the hot season There were no carriages driving about the roads, People shut their doors and lay down in the cool: Or if they went out, it was not to pay calls. Nowadays -- ill-bred, ignorant fellows, When they feel the heat, make for a friend's house. The unfortunate host, when he hears someone coming Scowls and frowns, but can think of no escape. "There's nothing for it but to rise and go to the door," And in his comfortable seat he groans and sighs. The conversation does not end quickly: Prattling and babbling, what a lot he says! Only when one is almost dead with fatigue He asks at last if one isn't finding him tiring. [One's arm is almost in half with continual fanning: The sweat is pouring down one's neck in streams.] Do not say that this is a small matter: I consider the practice a blot on our social life. I therefore caution all wise men That August visitors should not be admitted. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PARADOX by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GHOST OF DEACON BROWN by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW; IN MEMORIAM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON HARRIET BEECHER STOWE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR GERONTION by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT ART ABOVE NATURE: TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK |