SUMMER IN SMITH SQUARE

There is a hint of Summer in the air,
Faint stirrings 'midst the tame-life of Smith Square,
The youthful heart that quickens in the sun,
The aged one that longs for summers gone.

How strange that cloistered creatures such as we,
Still long for open fields and boundless sea.
How odd that the senators of this new Rome,
Still have barbarian souls that must needs roam.