27 SEPTEMBER 1913, Page 16

POETRY.

SUSSEX HARVEST.

NUT trees they be turnin' brown, Beech tree he've a yeller crown, Horse chestnut be nearly ripe, Robin's tooned his autumn pipe.

Hills be purple like a plum, Air be full o' threshers' hum, Acorns falling from oak tree Make lil cups fer Pharisee.

Woodsmoke's risin' thin an' blue, Frosty white is marnin' doo, Loads o' bracken ripe an' red Are carted home fer cattle's bed.

Harvest's gotten in again Spite o' blight an' wind an' rain ; Per loaves o' bread upon the board, Now thank we all dear Christ our Lord.

HeerseN CAINE.