A Ballade of Midsummer
The heat wave sweeps along the street,
And torrid ripples mark its flow;
Successive billows follow fleet,
And blister all things with their glow.
No puff of air swings to and fro;
No gentle zephyr stirs the trees.
O for the winds that o’er ocean blow!
O for a breath of the salt sea-breeze!
Along the shadeless ways you greet
No damsel fair, no buckramed beau—
The solitude is ruled by heat—
A sultry, sullen, scorching woe.
The blazing sun rides high and slow,
As if with laziness to tease
The melting, sweltering world below—
O for a breath of the salt sea-breeze!
The laggard steed with aching feet
Must stagger on; for him is no
Surcease of labour, no retreat
Before his stint is done. And so
Must man still labour on, although
He hopeless longs to take his ease,
Or to the ocean fain would go—
O for a breath of the salt sea-breeze!
Envoi.
Princes or peasants, friend and foe,
No man may have all that he please;
Midsummer heat shall lay him low—
O for a breath of the salt sea-breeze!
Brander Matthews.