AUGUST WEATHER 137 



Not while winter breathes his blight, 



Burst thy bonds below : 



Let the earth look proud and bright, 



Let the roses blow, 



Let the roses blow. 



O let earth look proud and bright, 



Let the roses blow ! 



CONRAD WETZBL. 

 (Translated by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.) 



AUGUST WEATHER 



DEAD heat and windless air, 



And silence over all ; 

 Never a leaf astir, 



But the ripe apples fall ; 

 Plums are purple-red, 



Pears amber and brown ; 

 Thud ! in the garden-bed 



Ripe apples fall down. 



Air like a cider-press 



With the bruised apples' scent ; 

 Low whistles express 



Some sleepy bird's content ; 

 Still world and windless sky, 



A mist of heat o'er all ; 

 Peace like a lullaby, 



And the ripe apples fall. 



KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON. 



