Poems (Jordan)/November
For works with similar titles, see November.
NOVEMBER
Nature has aged grown, her soft, white hairFalls in dishevelled heaps about her face,From which the careless smile is fled; nor traceOf youthful beauty now remains, save whereThe cold, destroying hand must fail to reach,For, underneath this stern exterior,Her heart beats warm; life far superiorTo outward form abides within. With speech—To which a trembling adds its charm—she standsIn rigid grace, and summons us to come,—Not to hear her pronounce on earth, its doom,But, from her feeble and uplifted hands,Lets fall on us her blessing from on high,—Then sweetly smiles again, and thus doth die.