When Cider Time Comes Round

I hev a thirsty feelin’ on when cider time comes round,

When all the hills are red an’ gold an’ frost is on the ground;

A deep, persistent hankerin’ fur Martin’s cider mill

Where ev’ry boy in Gungawamp hez hed his daily fill.

The ol’ hoss with his measured tread in goin’ round an’ round,

With apples fallin’ in the cogs, a most invitin’ sound;

An’ jest below the monstrous press fur squeezin’ down the cheese,

An’ then the foamin’ tub below alive with boys an’ bees!

When cider time comes round each fall I’m allus eout uv gear,

An’ I can’t find no “sweet content”, no happiness I fear,

Until I go to Martin’s mill an’ take my ol’ rye straw,

An’ git upon my stiffened knees an’ hev a goodly “draw”.

An’ all the lusciousness of earth comes rushin’ thro’ thet quill,

An’ on my knees I bless the fruits uv Martin’s cider mill.

No “melancholy days” fur me, ez bards uv old hev found,

Fur these are days uv joy supreme when cider time comes round.

Sept. 29, 1901