13 AUGUST 1948, Page 14

WINTER RAIN

WE are disposed, this undemanding lane,

These uncontending fields and trees and I, In one drenched gloom with the down-gathered sky, All wide awake but in a trabquil vein.

Only the fluctuant crackling of faint rain Or the odd bird-note sounds as I go by Thinking of things before and when I die: I have no need to conquer or complain.

Summer's delirium and Spring's young dream Died in the Autumn and a frost-time passed This Winter but we stilled ones soak and stream In our today, in this cold overcast But dimly comfortable spell : we seem Removed from change and can be calm at last. ALBERT BROWN.