In my Autumn garden I was fain 

 To mourn among my scattered roses/' 



CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. 



SEPTEMBER 



Between the dahlias, towering tall, 



I walk by garden paths, where fall 



The lofty elm trees' golden leaves ; 



From bush to bush the spider weaves 



A web of silk, dew-diamond strung. 



The fallen golden leaves among 



A withered rose at rest for aye 



" That Summer should have passed away ! " 



I hear the call of Spring-born thrush, 



Deep in the woodland's solaced hush. 



For him the berries ripen red, 



His food to be when Autumn's fled. 



Untasted Winter ! unseen snow ! 



Wise bird, yet you each secret know. 



These are the words of his sad lay 



" That Summer should have passed away ! " 



The rose-hips redden on the hedge, 

 Like golden tapers grows the sedge ; 

 The berries of the bramble shine 

 As jewels, where the branches twine 

 Like old-age-beards, the traveller's joy, 

 To seed-time grown from flower-time boy. 

 The sun breaks thro' the mists of grey 

 " That Summer should have passed away ! " 



Summer should have passed away" seems sad 

 indeed Summer so long looked for, so swift to 

 pass away ! Our holidays are over, and most of us are 

 back once again in the busy world. 



The sky to-day is overcast ; the first Autumnal rain is 



falling upon my garden, and a sense of sadness fills 



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