AUTUMN UN THE GAIRBEN 



HE Autumn lays its silver blight 



On blade and leaf, but lo ! 

 My flowers are warmly blanketed 



Against the wind and snow, 

 And all my cherished roots are well 



Protected should the cold 

 And cruel fingers of the frost 



Come searching in the mold. 



'M proud of all my floral pets, 



And grateful to them, too, 

 For blossoming so faithfully 



For me the season through, 

 And of their fragrant beauty still 



My fondest thoughts will be, 

 Until the robin sounds once more 



The vernal reveille. 



HIDDEN treasure, rich and rare, 



Within my garden lies, 

 I buried it with spade and fork 



From wild and wintry skies — 

 I 've planted there the choicest bulbs 



And roots where first the sun 

 Will find them when the drifted snows 



Begin to melt and run. 



— 54 — 



