<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374746" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Thermometrical Ballade</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There’s a wind up that licks like a flame,<br>And the sun is a porthole of hell.<br>Now evanish prim notions of shame,<br>And the craving to look rather well –<br>In pyjamas you’re never a swell,<br>And you’ve chosen some roomily made.<br>Oh! for ices these pangs to dispel –<br>It’s one hundred and nine in the shade!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We have limped in from tennis. That game ! –<br>I’d as soon with the damned where they dwell<br>Stoke a furnace and bathe in the same!<br>There’s no drink human craving to quell,<br>Not thin chablis nor sweet muscatel.<br>Never more shall we see, I’m afraid,<br>The cool shallows, the pale asphodel.<br>It’s one hundred and nine in the shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You recline an invertebrate frame<br>In the moisture your atoms expel,<br>‘Gainst the fates very feebly declaim,<br>All too limp to rise up and rebel.<br>Action flies and mosquitoes compel.<br>We make pitiful fight ‘gainst the raid<br>With a cloying and nauseous smell<br>In one hundred and nine in the shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ENVOY<br>Here might solids of Hamlet dispel.<br>Quick the answer to prayer that he prayed.<br>Human flesh turns to dew ‘neath the spell<br>Of one hundred and nine in the shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+George+Dyson">Edward George Dyson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374746" data-title="A Thermometrical Ballade de Edward George Dyson" data-description="There’s a wind up that licks like a flame, And the sun is a porthole of hell. Now evanish prim notions of shame, And the craving to look rather well – In pyjamas you’re never a swell, And you’ve chosen some roomily made. Oh! for ices these..."></div> </div> </div>

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