NOVEMBER with mysterious feet Creeps slowly through the land, And on the bridge and in the street, Amid the town's tumultuous beat, Spreads out a quiet hand, And wraps around us unaware His mantle grey and cold; But he has blossoms still to spare: We find fresh flowers rich and rare Hid in each misty fold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THALATTA! THALATTA!; CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND by JOSEPH BROWNLEE BROWN THE CHILDREN'S HOUR by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE GLASSES AND THE BIBLE by ST. CLAIR ADAMS THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 3. EXERCISE by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE WRESTLERS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET STRUCTURAL IRON WORKERS by MACKNIGHT BLACK |