Poems (Thaxter)/November

by Celia Thaxter

For works with similar titles, see November.

NOVEMBER.

There is no wind at all to-night To dash the drops against the pane;No sound abroad, nor any light, And sadly falls the autumn rain;

There is no color in the world, No lovely tint on hill or plain;The summer's golden sails are furled, And sadly falls the autumn rain.

The Earth lies tacitly beneath, As it were dead to joy or pain:It does not move, it does not breathe,— And sadly falls the autumn rain.

And all my heart is patient too, I wait till it shall wake again;The songs of spring shall sound anew, Though sadly falls the autumn rain.