POETRY,.

AUBADE.

(From " The Princess in the Sleeping Wood.") AT dawn the ancient chamberlain Came like someone who has lain For years beneath the deepest water. . . .

He called the housekeeper's young daughter, Where she sat in her bedgown Smoothing the dusky dawn's owl-down, Until she leaned out through the wet

Leaves in her pale sarcanet.

" Forget the dawn is still owl-dark,

Forget the wet leaves. . . . You must hark—

Owing to the fairy's malice No spindles must be in the palace." • • • • In their dusk leaf-hid bower, the maidens chatter like a bird Awakening : " Phcebe, Audrey, have you heard ?

Oh, the dark panic here this very night,

The slighted fairy's anger and the good queen's fright.

And all our spindles banished 1 It would seem That we have nought to do all day but dream 1 " When the dew seems like trembling silver leaves Cross Poll Troy looks out from the palace eaves : " Knot up your butter-yellow satin hair, You lazy queans. . . . Come quick, come down the stair Anne, Anne, come draw the milk, The cream must be as thick as silk

And yellow as the ripest sheen

Of apricot or nectarine.

Beneath the great leaves of that tree Wicked goat-foot I can see 1 He'll steal the milk and steal the cream While you lie in a lazy dream.

Fie, the lazy birds, the shames !

Ph cebe, you must light the flames : They will spring like greenest leaves Grow ing round your bower's dim eaves.

Oh, the foliage shrill and green In the fire You lazy qucan, Dream not of your heart's desire- Phi:the, come and light the fire 1 " EDITH SI TWELL&