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Poem
August 9, 1894
The Scranton Tribune
Scranton, Lackawanna County, Pennsylvania
What is this article about?
A satirical poem from the New York World depicting the debilitating effects of summer heat, which wilts people into lazy, irritable states fixated on the single thought: 'It's hot!'
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Full Text
The Hot Season.
All ozone now deserts the air
And leaves miasma microbes there.
The heat wilts men to spineless lumps
And leaves them in the doleful dumps.
It slowly turns, from hour to hour,
Our milk of human kindness sour,
And on the brain such strain is wrought
That it can hold one only thought—
It's hot!
The healthy man it fries away
To dull, devitalized decay.
It boils his brain beyond control
And cracks the enamel off his soul.
"All flesh is grass," the Scriptures say.
It takes this grass and makes it hay.
We wish to sit in just one spot
And cherish but one single thought—
It's hot!
Man is too weak to work or play.
And far too impious to pray.
It is an all sufficient labor
For him to sit and watch his neighbor—
To watch his neighbor dig and delve—
But he's too weak to work himself.
He loves to sit in one lone spot,
With this one solitary thought—
It's hot!
It's hot, and labor is a crime.
We'll wait and sit till dinner time,
And then we'll wait another spell
Until we hear the supper bell.
All other work is out the question
Except the labor of digestion.
With work we'll not be overwrought.
And we will cherish but one thought—
It's hot.
New York World.
All ozone now deserts the air
And leaves miasma microbes there.
The heat wilts men to spineless lumps
And leaves them in the doleful dumps.
It slowly turns, from hour to hour,
Our milk of human kindness sour,
And on the brain such strain is wrought
That it can hold one only thought—
It's hot!
The healthy man it fries away
To dull, devitalized decay.
It boils his brain beyond control
And cracks the enamel off his soul.
"All flesh is grass," the Scriptures say.
It takes this grass and makes it hay.
We wish to sit in just one spot
And cherish but one single thought—
It's hot!
Man is too weak to work or play.
And far too impious to pray.
It is an all sufficient labor
For him to sit and watch his neighbor—
To watch his neighbor dig and delve—
But he's too weak to work himself.
He loves to sit in one lone spot,
With this one solitary thought—
It's hot!
It's hot, and labor is a crime.
We'll wait and sit till dinner time,
And then we'll wait another spell
Until we hear the supper bell.
All other work is out the question
Except the labor of digestion.
With work we'll not be overwrought.
And we will cherish but one thought—
It's hot.
New York World.
What sub-type of article is it?
Satire
What themes does it cover?
Nature Seasons
Satire Society
What keywords are associated?
Summer Heat
Hot Weather
Human Laziness
Heat Effects
Satirical Complaint
Poem Details
Title
The Hot Season.
Subject
Summer Heat Complaints
Form / Style
Rhymed Quatrains With Refrain
Key Lines
It's Hot!
The Heat Wilts Men To Spineless Lumps
And Leaves Them In The Doleful Dumps.
It Boils His Brain Beyond Control
And Cracks The Enamel Off His Soul.
All Other Work Is Out The Question
Except The Labor Of Digestion.