EQUINOCTIAL. By MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY.

The Sun of Life has crossed the line; The summer-shine of lengthened light Faded and failed,—till, where I stand, ’Tis equal Day and equal Night. One after one, as dwindling hours, Youth’s glowing hopes have dropped away, And soon may barely leave the gleam That coldly scores a winter’s day. I am not young, I am not old; The flush of morn, the sunset calm, Paling, and deepening, each to each, Meet midway with a solemn charm. One side I see the summer fields, Not yet disrobed of all their green; While westerly, along the hills, Flame the first tints of frosty sheen. Ah, middle-point, where cloud and storm Make battle-ground of this my life! Where, even-matched, the Night and Day Wage round me their September strife! I bow me to the threatening gale: I know when that is overpast, Among the peaceful harvest-days, An Indian-summer comes at last.