LITERARY

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SONNET TO SEPTEMBER.


Pensive September ! month of quiet mien !
      
       With thee at have we bid a long farewell

To the summer glories that have been,

       Which we have loved all joyously and well.

The reapers now are busy in the fields,

       And creaking wagons blithesome roll away

With store of grain that pregnant Ceres yields,

       To earth-born toilers in the realms of day.

The thrush and linnet cease their matin song,

       The swallows wing to other lands their flight;

For mellow autumn quickly comes along,

       And harvest o'er we look for winter's night,

When bird and flower, the rapt and beaming eye

No more rejoicing can their charms descry !



Chas. F. FORSHAW, D. C. L., LLD.

Wasdale House, St. Bees, Sep. 5th, 1905

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