1 MARCH 1890, Page 16

POETRY.

A WINTER SONG.

THERE is a break in the winter, dearest,

Peace in the blue air's untarnished realm, Snowdrops are out, and an early throstle Warbles ere dawn on our tallest elm.

Let us go up to the hill-pines yonder, Tidings to catch, if we can, of spring, Larks will be loud o'er the bleak fields, dearest, Maybe the robin at Shirley sing.

Look, to the heart of the dark plantation Soft gleams off tenderness steal and stay, Murmurs, above us, around us, dearest, Almost the hum of a summer's day.

Winter of sorrow has wounded, dearest, Track of our footsteps has been by graves- Spring-time is near, and comfort and beauty, Love that transfigures, and lifts, and saves.

JOSEPH TRUMAN.