OCTOBER 179 



The blackbird's song at eventide 



And hers who gay ascends, 

 Telling the heavens far and wide, 



Are sweet. But none so blends 

 As thine 

 With calm decay and peace divine. 



The following four verses are, I think, very pretty, 

 and not likely to be generally known (I do not know who 

 wrote them) ; and how we do, all of us, ' love the sweet fall 

 of the year ' ! — far the most beautiful of all the seasons 

 n England : — 



I wondered this year — for the autumn was in. 

 The acacias were dark and the linden leaves thin. 

 And the south wind in coming and going was loud, 

 And odorous and moist, like the breath of a cloud — 



I wondered and said, ' Then the autumn is here. 

 God knows how I love the sweet fall of the year ; 

 But the feeling of autumn is not in my brain ; 

 My God, give me joy in Thine autumn again.' 



I woke in the morning, and out in the air 



I heard the sweet robin his ditty declare. 



And my passion of autumn came down from the skies, 



And I leapt from my bed with the tears in my eyes. 



Ah I robin, sweet robin, dost thou know the power 

 That comes on the heart with the fall of the flower, 

 The odour of winds, and the shredding of trees. 

 And the deepening of colour in skies and on seas ? 



October 2nd. — How beautiful are these early autumn 

 mornings ! Here, at any rate, they have qualities un- 

 equalled all through the long year. The flowers shine 

 with colour out of the grey mists, as they do at twilight in 

 the long summer evenings, and the gardens now are all 

 filled with dewy gossamer. 



Two new autumn Crocuses have lately been brought 

 to my notice ; one, G. speciosus, is very pretty standing up 



n3 



