EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY

Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away!— The sun creeps 'gainst the hill And climbs and climbs And rests at every step. How faded grew the world! On weary, slackened strings the wind Playeth his tune. Fair Hope fled far— He waileth after. 'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away! O fruit of the tree, Thou tremblest, fallest? What secret whispered unto thee The Night, That icy shudders deck thy cheek, Thy cheek of purple hue? Silent art thou, nor dost reply— Who speaketh