The Ice-Cream Man

When summer's in the city,

And brick's a blaze of heat,

The Ice-Cream Man with his little cart

Goes trundling down the street.

Beneath his round umbrella,

Oh, what a joyful sight,

To see him fill the cones with mounds

Of cooling brown or white:

Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry,

Or chilly things to drink

From bottles full of frosty-fizz,

Green, orange, white, or pink.

His cart might be a flower bed

Of roses and sweet peas,

The way the children cluster round

As thick as honeybees.