10 JANUARY 1885, Page 14

SONNET.—" A MEMORY OF MAY."

• Could aught arrest the rushing wings of Time, Or fix his shadow on th dial's face, This were the day supreme, the perfect place, Winaudermere, iu May's eternal prime.

So should the ash her emerald never yield,

Her fragrant snows the hawthorn, thrush and lark Carol all day, and not one storm cloud-dark Fright the soft fleeces from Heaven's azure field.

The while we drank imperishable delight From the sun-smitten vale, the lustrous lake, The imperial purple of the lofty Fells ;

And breathed his verse, who from the Wood-nymph bright

Won every secret of the whispering brake, And spoiled the Mountain Spirit of all his spells.

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.