November Is Here!

Hello everyone –

November has arrived, with autumn splendor, cool breezes, starlit frosty nights, and holidays to remember and celebrate! Here are some of my favorite poems about late autumn (and yes, early winter – it’s definitely on the way!).

“Leaves”

By Anonymous

The leaves had a wonderful frolic.

They danced to the wind’s loud song.

They whirled, and they floated, and scampered.

They circled and flew along.

The Moon saw the little leaves dancing.

Each looked like a small brown bird.

The Man in the Moon smiled and listened.

And this is the song he heard.

“The North Wind is calling, is calling,

And we must whirl round and round,

And then, when our dancing is ended,

We’ll make a warm quilt for the ground.”

“A Calendar of Sonnets: November”

By Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain? 

“November Morning”

By Evaleen Stein (1863-1923)

A tingling, misty marvel 
  Blew hither in the night, 
And now the little peach-trees 
  Are clasped in frozen light.

Upon the apple-branches 
  An icy film is caught, 
With trailing threads of gossamer 
  In pearly patterns wrought.

The autumn sun, in wonder, 
  Is gaily peering through 
This silver-tissued network 
  Across the frosty blue.

The weather-vane is fire-tipped, 
  The honeysuckle shows 
A dazzling icy splendor, 
  And crystal is the rose.

Around the eaves are fringes 
  Of icicles that seem 
To mock the summer rainbows 
  With many-colored gleam.

Along the walk, the pebbles 
  Are each a precious stone; 
The grass is tasseled hoarfrost, 
  The clover jewel-sown.

Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle 
  Fills all the frosty air, 
Oh, can it be that darkness 
  Is ever anywhere!

Enjoy the longest weekend of the year! :)

Rob