6 NOVEMBER 1886, Page 15

POETRY.

AUTUMN SONG.

SUMMER hath too short a date, Autumn enters, ah ! how soon, Scattering with scornful hate All the joys of June. Nay, say not so;

Nothing here below But dies To rise Anew with rarer glow.

Now no skylarks singing soar Sunward; now beneath the moon Love's own nightingale no more Lifts his magic tune.

Nay, sigh not so!

For awhile they go; Their strain Again The Spring shall overflow.

ALFRED PERI:F.1'AL GRAVES.