THIS sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun The day, though bough with bough be over-run. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation; while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun, As if, being foresters of old, the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves. Here dawn to-day unveiled her magic glass; Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew; Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass, Nor know, for longing, that which I should do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DAUGHTER OF DEBATE by ELIZABETH I A SEA STORY by EMILY HENRIETTA HICKEY AT THE SHRINE by RICHARD KENDALL MUNKITTRICK THE COMING OF SPRING by NORA PERRY NATURE DISPLAYED by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE HOPELESS PASSION by BERTON BRALEY THE CROWDED STREET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT REMARKS ON DR. BROWN'S 'ESTIMATE OF THE MANNERS OF THE TIMES' by JOHN BYROM |