5 NOVEMBER 1948, Page 11

THE ROBE

One bright October morning I rolled my scholarly sleeves, And leaving indoor learning, Went out to rake the leaves.

I piled them high and burned them, Wrapped in an acrid cloak

That throned me as I turned them ; A kingly robe of smoke.

Oh vanity of bonfires, To let a pedant drape The cloth of all Octobers