STEWART EDWARD WHITE,
in The Mountains.

NOVEMBER 2.

THE DROUTH: 1898.

No low of cattle from these silent fields

Fills, with soft sounds of peace, the evening air;

No fresh-mown hay its scented incense yields

From these sad meadows, stricken brown and bare.

The brook, that rippled on its summer way,

Shrinks out of sight within its sandy bed,