28 FEBRUARY 1874, Page 12

POETRY.

SONNET.

ALAS ! sweet Life, that thou must fly so fast !

Is there no breathing-space for thee and me ?

So much we have to say, and learn, and see,

So late it seems since spring's glad moments past,—

And now the leaves change colour at the blast, And the chill mists come creeping up the lea, While one by one friends pass me silently To the strange rest that ends this coil at last.

With them depart the splendour and the glow, The fervour caught from meadow, mount, and river, The lovely light, purer than unstained snow, That filled dear eyes and made the pulses quiver ; Ah ! let me, then, call back the word I said,- 'Tis better life should fly, since friends have fled.

Joiix DENNIS.