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The Spike or Victoria University College Review 1948



I walked in the garden in Autumn, and the trees
Were infinitely sad and tender, and strangely at ease,
And old with knowledge of the seasons, buried under their bark
Deep in the deep dead yellow of a wood heart.
Wind woke in the night, and blew the rain under my door
And kneeling at my prayers to morning. I felt on the damp floor
page 26 The tears of the trees at the year's mourning, their pain—
And the spirit of Autumn touched my heart with the touch of rain.