That Winter's blasts are born.
But ere the snow its cov'ring spreads
And Earth to sleep beguiles,
Old Summer lifts her sun-lit face,
Looks back at us and smiles.
One broiling August day an aged "cullud gemman," who was pushing a barrow of bricks, paused to dash the sweat from his dusky brow; then, shaking his fist at the sun, he apostrophized it thus:
"Fo' the Lawd's sake, war wuz yuh last Janooary?"
"Have you been touching the barometer, Jane?"