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...THE BETTER PART by MATTHEW ARNOLD ON THE NEW FORCES OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT by JOHN MILTON EPISTLE TO ROBERT, EARL OF OXFORD, AND EARL MORTIMER by ALEXANDER POPE THE IRISH MOTHER IN THE PENAL DAYS by JOHN BANIM ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |