European Elegies/Autumn (1)/November
16.NOVEMBER
The gloom of grey NovemberOn field and copse is shed;Life can no laugh rememberWhile the cold earth lies dead.
No more come robins callingFrom branches by the door:Only the sere leaf fallingFrom the pale sycamore.
And the slow drops unceasingDripping from barren boughs,Tears that for sorrow's easingFall on your last, dark house.
From the Plattdeutsch of Fritz Husmann.