JULY, 1904.
Vanity Fair (UK), July 7, 1904
Julys that I remember
In years, thank goodness, gone
Were rather like December:
The sun too rarely shone;
And when it wasn’t freezing
The rain was sure to pour:
But you are mild and pleasing,
July of nineteen-four.
Last year we’d sit and shiver,
Or seek an early bed;
The road was like a river,
The sky resembled lead.
But gaiters and goloshes
We seem to need no more;
We’ve sold our mackintoshes,
July of nineteen-four.
You show in many ways your
Anxiety to please;
The firmament is azure,
Distinctly warm the breeze.
We’re under obligations
’Twere idle to ignore;
My best congratulations,
July of nineteen-four.