Homesick
’Mid Autumn Leaves, now thickly shed,
We wander where our paths o’erspread,
With yellow russet, red and sere:
The country’s looking dull and drear,
The sky is gloomy overhead.
The equinoctial gales we dread,
The summer’s gone, the sunshine’s fled;
We’ve rambled far enough this year-
’Mid Autumn Leaves.
Though fast our travel-time has sped,
On London’s flags we long to tread;
The latest laugh and chaff to hear,
To find the Club grown doubly dear;
Its gas burns bright, its fire glows red-
’Mid Autumn Leaves.
J. Ashby Sterry.