2 APRIL 1887, Page 13

POETRY.

KEATS'S COTTAGE, HAMPSTEAD. I STROLLED in listless mood along a lane Hedged in by old-world gardens thick with trees And flowers old-fashioned. Sorrow and pain. Hunger for gold, which gold can ne'er appease, The love of fame,—all, all seemed banished long From this still avenue. The striking hours Came murmuring faintly, like an undersong From the great City to the listening flowers ; When, quick within a mimic wood I spied— Crouching as if to strike with magic wand— Flecked o'er with sunlight, beaming, laughing-eyed- A little child,—a Pack from Fairyland. With what a bound my heart's blood through me sped, As on the gate I "Kents'e Cottage" read G. T. Y.