POETRY
AUTUMN TWILIGHT Now Thou art lightening the hills around With clouds for lanterns, lighted from far away. Fair was the noon, yet dipping Thine earth in darkness, Thou makest fairer the twilight end of day.
Where pear-trees grow as tall as poplars In this deep orchard under the hill,
Children were calling to fruit-gathering women Now all is solitary and still.
Thy sun is gone. Thy labours too are gone, Thy holy light dies down by slow degrees ; Thou heist attained Thy hope that blossomed in April, Thy fruit is gathered in sacks beneath the trees.
Yet Thou art wakeful ; I hear a late twitter and chirping Of robin and wren and cricket ; and one rook flies High up and straight onward with wings mightily beating, Where Thou pursuest Thy way alone in the skies.
W. FORCE STEAD.
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