An Old Siftonian Idyll  

With the thermometer waxing
Toward the one hundredth degree
I found that the best place to be,
For my summertime relaxing,
Is underneath our backyard tree...
With its canopy of leaves, dark green,
And golden plums that must be seen,
It's a nice place...I'm sure you'd agree!
A charming breeze stirs the branches
As Apollo's beams dote on this dome
Of greenery beside our modest home
Amid these plain suburban ranches.
All that's missing is my maiden...
And the buxom fruit with which she's laden!