" An old-fashioned garden * where Nature had her way 

 and gracious thoughts could visit one without any 

 jarring note*" 



IAN MACLAREN. 



SEPTEMBER 



- * . 



Forget not that the year grows old, 



Now that the trees are touched with gold ; 



The mists are out upon the plain, 



Seed of the wild and wintry rain, 



And out of which in barren hours 



Shall bloom the magic of frost-flowers. 



And while we turn to autumn skies, 

 Fair harvest visions fill the eyes, 

 The poppy blossom's faded red, 

 The golden grain now harvested. 



But dream not that the year grows sad, 

 When lie before us seasons glad ; 

 The golden sheaves, the stored grain, 

 To April-green shall turn again. 

 What visions golden autumn weaves ! 

 What thoughts attend the fall of leaves ! 



(AUTUMN VISIONS.) 



" C EPTEMBER, all glorious with gold ! " But not yet is it 

 ^ the time for trees and hedges to be dressed in the pure 

 gold of Autumn-tide, for the leaves must first pass through, 

 not a fiery ordeal, but one of cold winds and a few frosts 

 which so often attend the first days of October, and which 

 purify, as it were, the world of its dross, showing us the beauty 

 of the pure gold of leaf. If from busy street we turn lane- 

 wards, we now behold the thinning of the branches in many 

 places, emptying their leaves upon the parched bank below ; 

 and in the hedges we may espy at times a desolate nest on 

 empty branches that in the Spring was a happy household and 



223 



