JUGGER HOWE DALE.

By Dorothy Una Ratcliffe

Oh! Moorland in September

To love and to remember.

The air is still and sunlit,

The moor's a russet bed,

The bracken's turning beryl,

The whortle leaves are red.

Here stand five sister pine-trees,

Gold-nimbussed by the sun;

And near, a slender rowan,

Its scarlet reign begun.

A runnel near is singing

A song of liquid glee,

A saucy, joyous blackbird

Tilts bubbling notes at me.

Then in a magic circle

Seven thick white smokes upcurl,

And forks of flame triumphant

Like crimson flags unfurl.

They rise with grace, and slowly —

Flower incense from the ling,

Repaying summer splendour

By an autumn offering.

Oh! Moorland in September

To love and to remember.