Old November, sere and brown, Clothes the country, haunts the town, Sheds its cloak of withered leaves, Brings its sighing, soughing breeze. Prophet of the dying year, Builder of its funeral bier, Bring your message here to men; Sound it forth that they may ken What of Life and what of Death Linger on your frosty breath. Let men know to you are given Days of thanks to God in heaven; Thanks for things which we deem best, Thanks, O God, for all the rest That have taught us—(trouble, strife, Bring thru Death a larger Life)— Death of our base self and fear— (Even as the dying year, Though through cold and frost, shall bring Forth a new and glorious spring)— Shall shed over us the sway Of a new and brighter day, With Hope, Faith and Love alway. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TASTING THE EARTH by JAMES OPPENHEIM BIRDS by NESTA HIGGINSON SKRINE TO LADY ANNE HAMILTON by WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER HOMAGE TO QUINTUS SEPTIMIUS FLORENTIS CHRISTIANUS: TROY by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS THE CONFIDENT SCIENTIST by ALEXIS NIGHTFALL by FLORENCE ASHLEY BELLER SONNET: FOR FREEDOM'S SAKE by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON ON A LETTER: 1 by MATHILDE BLIND LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF LA PEROUSE'S VOYAGES by THOMAS CAMPBELL |