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218

A PICTURE.

Hedge-rows withered and sere,
Hardly a leaf on the trees,
Waifs of the waning year
Tossed on a fitful breeze!
Peasant-folk gathering in
The last that the damp earth yields,
Only the rooks to glean
Over the tired fields!
Low cloud-lines hurrying west
Heavy with rain and grey,
Over the brown hill-crest,—
All things passing away.