RUBAIYAT OF SUMMER KHAYYAM.

RUBAIYAT OF SUMMER KHAYYAM.
377.1

WAKE! For the Summer scatters into flight
Your wife before you to some Country site;
She’ll take the children with her, and she’ll leave
The Parlor Fumiture done up in white.

The Cook indeed is gone. The Waitress goes
To-morrow. Their Returning no one knows.
But still there are cafes where one may dine,
And some Roof Gardens have attrattive Shows.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we, too, down to the Shore must wend:
Cramped in small rooms, fed on distressing food,
Sans wine, sans song, sans dinner and sans friend.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Summer Hotels, and gladly paid the rent,
Nor grumbled at the Bill; but now I know ‘
Twas Money most egregiously misspent.

Waste not your hour in silly, capid
Talk. Meandering up and down the long
Board Walle. Better be jocund with a
Friend or two On Summer Nights in Little Old New York.

And that Inverted Box they call your room,
Whereunder crawling, cooped, you live in gloom.
Lift not your hands at it, for it is not More
Dark or Small than any other Tomb.

Yesterday’s Roast this Breakfast did prepare,
To-morrow’s Soup or Ragout still is there;
Eat, for you know not whence it came or why,
Eat, for you know not when you go or where.

The Bill no question makes of Ayes or
Noes: It’s high or low, as your Appearance goes.
And he behind the Desk, who makes it out,-
He knows how much you’re worth, he knows, he knows I

The smiling clerk just writes, and, having writ,
It’s due. Nor all your
Bluster nor your Grit
Shall lure him back to cancel a Mistake,
Nor all your Rage mark off a charge of it.

Indeed I vowed I’d Never go there more;
I swore, but was I sober when I swore?
And then my Wife wrote up, and I went down,
Exactly as I went the week before.

Would but some winged Angel, ere too late,
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
And all those Summer Hotels by the Sea
Wipe out, Expunge and quite obliterate.

Ah, Love, could you and I but have our say,
About this sorry scheme of Summers gay;
We’d shatter it to little bits and then
Re-mould it nearer to Dear Old Broadway.