The equinoctial gales we dread,
The summer's gone, the sunshine's fled;
We've rambled far enough this year-
'Mid Autumn Leaves.
Though fast our travel-time has sped,
On London's flags we long to tread;
The latest laugh and chaff to hear,
To find the Club grown doubly dear;
Its gas burns bright, its fire glows red-
'Mid Autumn Leaves.
J. Ashby Sterry.
IN BEECHEN SHADE.
In beechen shade the hours are sweet,
By mist-veiled morn or noonday heat
(And sweeter still when daylight dies)
So soft the wandering streamlet sighs
In passage musical and fleet.
Full drowsily the white lambs bleat,
And tinkling bell-notes faintly beat
The languid air where Lacon lies
In beechen shade.
And still, when day and even meet;
Selene strays with golden feet,
That gleam along the low blue skies
And paceth slow, with dreaming eyes
That seek the shepherds' dim retreat
'Mid beechen shade.
Graham R. Tomson.