November

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
William Shakespeare

I saw the lovely arch
Of rainbow span the sky,
The gold sun burning
As the rain swept by.
Elizabeth Coatsworth, November

Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Sara Coleridge

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being.
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.
Percy Bysshe Shelley

In the garden, Autumn is, indeed the crowning glory of the year, bringing us the fruition of months

of thought
and care and toil. And at no season, safe perhaps in Daffodil time, do we get such superb colour

effects as
from August to November.
Rose G. Kingsley, The Autumn Garden

Walked for half an hour in the garden. A fine rain was falling, and the landscape was that of

autumn. The sky was hung with various shades of gray, and mists hovered about the distant mountains

a melancholy nature. The leaves were falling on all sides like the last illusions of youth

under the tears of irremediable grief. A brood of chattering birds were chasing each other through

the shrubberies, and playing games among the branches, like a knot of hiding schoolboys. Every

landscape is, as it were, a state of the soul, and whoever penetrates into both is astonished to

find how much likeness there is in each detail.
Henri Frederic Amiel

So dull and dark are the November days.
The lazy mist high up the evening curled,
And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze;
The place we occupy seems all the world.
John Clare, November

Our Father, fill our hearts, we pray,
With gratitude Thanksgiving Day;
For food and raiment Thou dost give,
That we in comfort here may live.
Luther Cross, Thanksgiving Day

November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
Emily Dickinson

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member -
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds -
November!
Thomas Hood, No!

When the trees their summer splendor
Change to raiment red and gold,
When the summer moon turns mellow,
And the nights are getting cold;
When the squirrels hide their acorns,
And the woodchucks disappear;
Then we know that it is autumn,
Loveliest season of the year.
Carol L. Riser, Autumn

The last seed
falls from the sunflower-
empty pond.

Yea, I have looked, and seen November there;
The changeless seal of change it seemed to be,
Fair death of things that, living once, were fair;
Bright sign of loneliness too great for me,
Strange image of the dread eternity,
In whose void patience how can these have part,
These outstretched feverish hands, this restless heart?
William Morris, November