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...EPITAPH FOR A SOLDIER by DAVID IGNATOW BONNYBELL: THE BUTTERFLY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE AIM WAS SONG by ROBERT FROST THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK by ROBERT HERRICK BAYARD TAYLOR by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |