  LET all men living on earth take heed, For their own soul’s sake, to a rhyme well meant; Writ so that he who runs may read— We are the folk that a-summering went, Who while the year was young were bent— Yea, bent on doing this self-same thing Which we have done unto some extent. This is the end of our summering. We are the folk who would fain be freed From wasteful burdens of rate and rent— From the vampire agents’ ravening breed— We are the folk that a-summering went. We hied us forth when the summer was blent With the fresh faint sweetness of dying spring, A-seeking the meadows dew besprent This is the end of our summering. For O the waiters that must be fee’d, And our meat-time neighbour, the travelling “gent”; And the youth next door with the ophicleide! We are the folk that a-summering went! Who from small bare rooms wherein we were pent, While birds their way to the southward wing, Come back, our money for no good spent— This is the end of our summering. ENVOYCitizens! list to our sore lament— While the landlord’s hands to our raiment cling— We are the folk that a-summering went: This is the end of our summering. H. C. Bunner. |
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