Lines on the Sabbath
To a person loving leisure in a high and heaping measure
What a joyaunce, what a treasure is a Sunday afternoon!
Of diversions there are plenty, from the dolce far niente
Joys to seventeen or twenty things to kill a day in June.
What a joyaunce, what a treasure is a Sunday afternoon!
Of diversions there are plenty, from the dolce far niente
Joys to seventeen or twenty things to kill a day in June.
One may journey in a motor, go to Coney in a boat, or
Pass the tickey down the throat, or mix the julep with the mint;
Do you love it cool and pretty, there are Deal, Atlantic City,
And some others that my ditty hasn’t room enough to print.
Pass the tickey down the throat, or mix the julep with the mint;
Do you love it cool and pretty, there are Deal, Atlantic City,
And some others that my ditty hasn’t room enough to print.
For the Phyllises there’s wooing while the Corydons are suing;
There is walking and canoeing, there are hammocks, there are swings;
And for those that have the notion there’s the broad Atlantic Ocean
For a dip—and Land o’ Goshen!—there’s a myriad of things!
There is walking and canoeing, there are hammocks, there are swings;
And for those that have the notion there’s the broad Atlantic Ocean
For a dip—and Land o’ Goshen!—there’s a myriad of things!
One may read a little when it strikes ones fancy—Arnold Bennett,
H. G. Wells, or what the Senate has to say on this or that—
But of all the things delighting and alluring and exciting,
Truly, none of them is writing in a stuffy Harlem flat.
H. G. Wells, or what the Senate has to say on this or that—
But of all the things delighting and alluring and exciting,
Truly, none of them is writing in a stuffy Harlem flat.