20 OCTOBER 1928, Page 12

Dead Leaves

IT is a proper thing and wise

When autumn sweeps the rain-washed skies Some bent old man whom no one grieves Should take his broom and sweep the leaves.

I watch him underneath the planes After the sleek October rains.

He takes his broom and sweeps away The dead that lived but yesterday,

And where his back in labour stoops

The children come to roll their hoops, E. TEMPLE Tura sTor.r.