November

 

Oh, month of withered leaves and leaping fires!
Oh, month of tossing seas and storms of hail;
When sun each morning rises through a veil
And in the afternoon sinks and expires.
When winds are singing through the stretching wires,
And breathing in old people start to fail,
And even they feel poorly who were hale,
And life slows down with all its hot desires.
Long are the evenings with their misty dusk,
And black the nights; though sometimes frosty stars
Pin-point the void like gleaming scimitars.
All Nature shivers and, though she’s a husk,
Bonfires and fireworks blaze and detonate
As if the long year’s death to celebrate.