Late Summer

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LATE SUMMER The suns of August scorch the yellow grain, And pale the hills are wrapped in whitened hare Like islands float the groves above the plain From skies unclouded comes the lambent blaze The roads are blinding in the floods of light The suns are followed with the burning moons Each day but dies to bring as rich a night, And at the dawnings, night in languor swoons. Alfred Lambourne.

THE RURAL PEACE See article, "The Country Cross-Roads," by Alfred Lambourne.