Title
Hazely Heath
Description
A poem on the coming of autumn.
Creator
Fane, Violet
Date
November 1888
Type
poem
Coverage
pg. 16
Text
‘t is "chill October," yet the linnet sings,
Still are our brows with balmy breezes fanned —
No Winter makes a desert of this land
Of my adoption, where each season brings,
To charm the sense, new guerdon of good things.
And Autumn only spreads with tender hand
A richer mantle o'er the billowy sand.
Golden and purple — braver than a king's.
Here all is light and song, with odorous breath
Of briar and pine, whilst ever, early and late,
The yellow gorse, like kissing-time — or death —
Abides with us. It were a worthier fate
To crawl, methinks, a worm, on Hazely Heath,
Than strut, a peacock, at a palace gate!
Still are our brows with balmy breezes fanned —
No Winter makes a desert of this land
Of my adoption, where each season brings,
To charm the sense, new guerdon of good things.
And Autumn only spreads with tender hand
A richer mantle o'er the billowy sand.
Golden and purple — braver than a king's.
Here all is light and song, with odorous breath
Of briar and pine, whilst ever, early and late,
The yellow gorse, like kissing-time — or death —
Abides with us. It were a worthier fate
To crawl, methinks, a worm, on Hazely Heath,
Than strut, a peacock, at a palace gate!