SENTIMENT IN AUTUMN IN Trinity the chestnuts ripen, Cambridge kindles
autumn fire, My son and I our baskets bearing Go to seek our hearts' desire.
Along the Backs the lawns are sodden, Willows trail their latter green Where our gentle, learned river Dark with wisdom flows between.
On the path each nut is glowing Warm beside the snowy husk; So much richness, so much roundness We could gather day to dusk.
Soon the gleeful boy is darting Here and there with gladdest face, While the mother gladly watching Marvels at his heedless grace.
Now these much-remembered gardens Are soft-peopled from the past ; Among the mellow shades the shadows Linger where their lot was cast.
Bentley, Bacon, Herbert, Housman, Autumn ghosts are not a few ; Nevile's Court is Newton pacing, Tennyson the Avenue.
Not for them my heart is beating, Not for great ones such as these, But for a small phantom threading In and out the chestnut trees.
Where the son goes, there the mother Went in autumns sweet as this ; In his laugh her laughter echoes In her footsteps follow his.
From the lawns the mist is rising Homeward now our steps are bent, Bearing in our laden baskets Heart's desire and heart's content.
JAQUETTA HAWKE S.
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