Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A BALLADE OF NOVEMBER, by J. H. WALLIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A BALLADE OF NOVEMBER, by                    
First Line: This is the time when the dead leaves fall
Last Line: For this is the season of cranberry sauce!
Subject(s): November; Yale University


"THIS is the time when the dead leaves fall,"
The pessimist cries in self-torturing glee.
"And the wild wind rattles the tree-tops tall,
And cold and the raucous airs are free.
All earth and mankind are in misery,
The outcast weeps and the branches toss -- "
But I lick my lips and go smilingly,
For this is the season of cranberry sauce!

The sea-storms to the land-storms call,
And the land shrieks out to the boiling sea;
The black skies gather and threaten all,
And the sun-warmth goes and the sunbeams flee.
The rain-bullets patter incessantly,
Prophetic and boding of pain and loss --
But little these bodings can trouble me,
For this is the season of cranberry sauce!

Let the wind stir the coats in the chilly hall,
The dining-room fire burns merrily;
The table is crowded from wall to wall,
And it creaks with the dainties -- so what care we?
The corpulent turkey smells savory.
The gravy steams. And the fruits' dull gloss,
The coffee's scent, make it plain to see
That this is the season of cranberry sauce!

Groaners and pessimists, come to be
Cheery, whatever your plaint or cause,
For this is the season of jollity,
For this is the season of cranberry sauce!





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