TRUE

The following poem is noteworthy not only for its beauty, but for the remarkable fact that its 252 words are all monosylhlbles. The poem appears to have been written without a thought of its structural peculiarity.

The fair frail blooms which loved the sun

   Grew faint at touch of cold,

And chilled and pale, fell one by one,

   Dead in the dust and mold.

In yon tall tree, now bleached and thinned.

   A nest swings frayed and lone.

All soaked with rain and rent by wind,­

   Its fair freight fledged ana flown.

Where are the birds, the moths, the bees,

   And scores of glad free things

Which thronged the ground, the grass, the trees,

   Or thrilled the air with wings?

Gone with the warmth, and bloom and light

   Born of the sun and sky,

Ere yet there fell this grief and blight,

   And the chill night drew nigh.

On the low bough that arched the gate

   When days were warm and long,

A wren, that has no nest or mate,

   Droops, all too sad for song.

Shorn of its fruit, still clings the vine,

   Its fair robes torn and sere;

No tint is left, nor sound, nor sign,

   Of all that June held dear.

But here, where down the dim, wet walks

   The blanched leaves whirl and beat,

One rose looks through the bare brown stalks,

   And charms the air with sweet,­

As one brave heart, when all the truth

   On earth seems dead or lost,

Still keeps the faith and fire of youth,

   And smiles in spite of frost.

Ah, though the friends I once held dear

   Are far, or laise, or flown,

I need not grieve, for.you are here,

   My hope, my love, my own!

                                       Elizabeth Akers Allen.