Explore "The End of the Season (Songs in Season)" by Harry Graham on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
How grimy and gritty are streets in the City, / How parched is each pavement and park, / Where Londoners harried in thoroughfares arid / Forgather from dawn until dark! / An atmosphere torrid, oppressive and horrid, / With leather-like lungs we inhale, / While odorous motors (more pungent than bloaters) / Our impotent nostrils assail, / And whistles and catcalls and horns without number / Combine to destroy all our chances of slumber!
How weary my heart is of dinners and parties, / How sick of each concert and play! / All social exertion I view with aversion, / Of banquets I dream with dismay. / Each moment enhances my hatred of dances, / All luncheons with loathing I hail; / At ev'ry collation, in sheer detestation, / I shrink from each cutlet or quail; / For though I enjoy such delights within reason, / I gratefully welcome the end of the Season!