Pavements a-frying in street and in square
Say, I've got a little brother
She's little and modest and purty
Sometimes when we're in school, and it's the afternoon and late
South Pokus is religious,--that's the honest, livin' truth;
Summer nights at Grandpa's--ain't they soft and still!
Sun like a furnace hung up overhead
Sure, Felix McCarty he lived all alone
The fog was so thick yer could cut it
The spring sun flashes a rapier thrust
The tired breezes are tucked to rest
To my office window, gray
Up in the attic I found them, locked in the cedar chest
Want to see me, hey, old chap?
_We'd_ never thought of takin' 'em,--'twas Mary Ann's idee,--
When Ezry, that's my sister's son, came home from furrin parts
When Papa's sick, my goodness sakes!
When the farm work's done, at the set of sun
When the great, gray fog comes in, and the damp clouds cloak the shore
When the hot summer daylight is dyin'
When the Lord breathes his wrath above the bosom of the waters
When the tide goes out, how the foam-flakes dance
When the toil of day is over
When Twilight her soft robe of shadow spreads down
Where leap the long Atlantic swells
Where the warm spring sunlight, streaming
Ye children of the mountain, sing of your craggy peaks
You know the story--it's centuries old--
THE END