14 APRIL 1900, Page 17

POETRY.

MAKING HASTE.

"SOON!" says the Snowdrop, and smiles at the motherly earth, "Soon!—for the Spring with her langnors comes stealthily OD.

Snow was my cradle, and chilly winds sang at my birth; Winter is over,—and I must make haste to be gone!"

"Soon I" says the Swallow, and dips to the wind-ruled stream, " Grain is all garnered—the summer is over and done; Bleak to the Eastward the icy battalions gleam, Sommer is over—and I must make haste to be gone! "

" Soon—ah, too soon ! " says the Sonl, with a desperate gaze. "Soon !—for I rose like a star, and for aye would have shone,

See the pale shuddering dawn, that must wither my rays, Leaps from the mountain—and I must make haste to be gone!"

ARTHUR C. BENSON.