November Cold
The trees grasp frost - hardened leaves,
As the silence of the night creeps in.
Helpless and cold the leaves loosen their grip,
And go their separate way.
To November
Dismal November! me it soothes to view,
At parting day, the scanty foliage fall
From the wet fruit tree, or the grey stone wall,
Whose cold films glisten with unwholesome dew;
To watch the yellow mists from the dank earth
Enfold the neighbouring copse; while on as they pass
The silent rain-drops bend the long rank grass
Which wraps some blossom's unmaturéd birth.
And through my cot's lone lattice glimmering grey
Thy damp chill evenings have a charm for me,
Dismal November! for strange vacancy
Summoneth then my very heart away!
Till from mist-hidden spire comes the slow knell,
And says, that in the still air Death doth dwell!
