3 NOVEMBER 1883, Page 16

SONNET.

O SUMMER of the Saints, last yearning sigh

Of Earth fordone, full fraught with gentle peace !— Smile of reposeful Nature, fain to cease

From labour and be locked in apathy,—

Dreaming of summer roses, and the cry

Of fledglings, and the white lamb's innocent fleece,—

Yet drowsily, as she had won a lease Of rest unblamed beneath a wintry sky, The breath of winged winds is on my face, Soft as a mother's touch ; the golden Sun

Drinks Earth's slow incense-fumes, as slow I pace

On pearly sands, from Ocean's empire won, By lapse of lulling waves that interlace And part, then up with sparkling laughter run.

E. D. S.