27 OCTOBER 1917, Page 16

POETRY.

THE HAWTHORN-TREE.

Nor much to me is yonder lane Where I go every day; But when there's been a shower of rain And hedge-birds whistle gay, 1 know my lad that's out in France With fearsome things to see Would give 'nix eyes for just one glance At our white hawthorn-tree.

Not much to me is yonder lam Where he so longs to trend: But when there's been a shower of rain I think Ill never weep again Until I've heard he's dead. Smaramo Sossoont.