UP FROM THE SEA I 09 



bracken of earlier days, have become 

 drowsy and are basking away their little 

 lives on the sun-warmed rocks. 

 Then who does not love 



" September's yellow ; 

 Morns of dew-strung gossamer, 

 Thoughtful days without a stir " ; 



the bright tints of crimson and gold 

 that have at last come to relieve the 

 heavy greenery of the summer woods ; 

 the autumnal blooming of the honey- 

 suckle and the scarlet berries of its June 

 blossgms ; and the wild roses that have 

 reappeared as if to have one last look at 

 the sun ? 



In the fields, where the steel-blue tur- 

 nip leaves hide the stealthy partridge as 

 she creeps and calls her broken covey, 

 golden marigolds, cornflowers, and pim- 

 pernels are making a show of colour 

 that the month of roses might have 

 been proud of. The cuckoo has left the 

 woods and moorlands, but the incessant 



