146 THE MARCH OF THE SEASONS 



There, when the gradual twilight falls, 

 Through quietudes of dusk afar, 



Hermit antiphonal hermit calls 



From hills below the first pale star. 



BLISS CARMAN. 



SONNET 



. . . Never-resting time leads summer on 



To hideous winter, and confounds him there ; 



Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, 



Beauty o'ersiiow'd and bareness everywhere : 



Then, were not summer's distillation left, 



A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, 



Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, 



Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was : 



But flowers distill'd, though they with winter 

 i meet, 



Leese but their show ; their substance still 

 lives sweet. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEABE. 



A WINTER GARDEN 



(From " The Spectator ") 



"I HAVE often wondered that those who are like 

 myself, and love to live in gardens, have never 

 thought of contriving a winter-garden, which would 

 consist of such trees only as never cast their leaves. 

 We have very often little snatches of sunshine and 



