15 OCTOBER 1943, Page 11

AUTUMN WOODS

THE days are hushed and still, whose wistful hours

Drift past like muted music of a song ; Some echo lingering, tells of summer's joy, Then passing — drifts away in cadence long ...

A secret spell seems hovering through the woods Where tree and bush are wrapt in flaming fire, And yellow leaves drop whispering one by one, Like single notes from Autumn's golden lyre.

The anxious mind, war weary, sanctuary finds Within this hallowed place, and takes its rest ; Surrounded now by mists of blue that creep To touch the flowing river's tranquil breast.

EDITH A. VASSIE.