George Augustus Baker, Jr.

        The Spring has grown to Summer;
            The sun is fierce and high;
        The city shrinks, and withers
            Beneath the burning sky.
        Ailantus trees are fragrant,
            And thicker shadows cast,
        Where berry-girls, with voices shrill,
            And watering carts go past.

        In offices like ovens
            We sit without our coats;
        Our cuffs are moist and shapeless,
            No collars binds our throats.
        We carry huge umbrellas
            On Broad Street and on Wall,
        Oh, how thermometers go up!
            And, oh, how stocks do fall!

        The nights are full of music,
            Melodious Teuton troops
        Beguile us, calmly smoking,
      ...

        "Love your neighbor as yourself,"
            So the parson preaches;
        That's one-half the Decalogue.
            So the Prayer-book teaches.
        Half my duty I can do
            With but little labor,
        For with all my heart and soul
            I do love my neighbor.

        Mighty little credit, that,
            To my self-denial;
        Not to love her, though, might be
            Something of a trial,
        Why, the rosy light, that peeps
            Through the glass above her,
        Lingers round her lips: you see
            E'en the sunbeams love her.

        So to make my merit more,
            I'll go beyond the letter;
        Love my neighbor as myself?
            Yes, and ten times bet...