November, a poem

Late Fall by Tim Gaydos

I found this beautiful poem over at Dylan's page, The Reluctant Draggard.  As I get older I find that the seasons and their changes offer greater depth and beauty than I'd ever noticed or found before.  It's one of the good things about growing a little older!  As November begins and winter approaches, walk through this poem and through the comings and goings of seasons changing...

November

by Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849)

The mellow year is hasting to its close;
The little birds have almost sung their last,
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast –
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows;
The patient beauty of the scentless rose,
Oft with the morn’s hoar crystal quaintly glassed,
Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past,
And makes a little summer where it grows.
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day
The dusky waters shudder as they shine;
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define;
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array,
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy-twine.



Tweet  

   
Subscribe to A Concord Pastor Comments