Classic Poem

Mabel, when the season vernal —
Better known, perhaps, as Spring —
Comes, I hate the job diurnal
Like — forgive me! — anything.
In the spring I hope the paper 'ill
Give me leave to go away
For the smiling month of April
And the merry month of May.

When the sun of Summer scorches
On the court and on the links,
Yearn I then to lie on porches,
Cooled by effer vescent drinks.
Sweeter far to stir the rickey
And absorb the citric lime
Than to chase the cheap and picay-
Unely meretricious rhyme.

In the dwindling days autumnal —
In, if I may say so, Fall —
I detest the task columnal
Worst, if possible, of all.
Lures me then the primrose path of
Dalliance; then would I immerse
All my being in a bath of
Almost anything but verse.

But, my Mabel, in the Winter's
Unalluring cold and wet,
I delight to give the printers
All the stuff that they can set.
Work — in Winter I enjoy it;
Fast the dullest evening flees
When I foolishly employ it
On innocuous rhymes like these.

Mabel, when the season vernal —
Better known, perhaps, as Spring —
Comes, I hate the job diurnal
Like — forgive me! — anything.
In the spring I hope the paper 'ill
Give me leave to go away
For the smiling month of April
And the merry month of May.

When the sun of Summer scorches
On the court and on the links,
Yearn I then to lie on porches,
Cooled by effer vescent drinks.
Sweeter far to stir the rickey
And absorb the citric lime
Than to chase the cheap and picay-
Unely meretricious rhyme.

In the dwindling days autumnal —
In, if I may say so, Fall —
I detest the task columnal
Worst, if possible, of all.
Lures me then the primrose path of
Dalliance; then would I immerse
All my being in a bath of
Almost anything but verse.

But, my Mabel, in the Winter's
Unalluring cold and wet,
I delight to give the printers
All the stuff that they can set.
Work — in Winter I enjoy it;
Fast the dullest evening flees
When I foolishly employ it
On innocuous rhymes like these.