November

November's night is dark and drear,The dullest month of all the year.

— November

On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered;Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree.

— November

When shriekedLike old companions in adversity.

— November

The dusky waters shudder as they shine,Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine.

— November

Dry leaves upon the wall,Still hangs—and that is all.

— November

Fie upon thee, November! thou dost apeThou'rt trying to put on!

— November

My sorrow when she's here with me, She walks the sodden pasture lane.

— November

No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility— November!

— November

The dead leaves their rich mosaics Through all the embowered town.

— November

Now Neptune's sullen month appears,And shed libations on his shrine!

— November

The wild November come at last And she must live alone.

— November

Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standethHearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top.

— November