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"November"

Random Poetry List LXXXVII

A weft of leafless spray
Woven fine against the gray
Of the autumnal day,
And blurred along those ghostly garden tops
Clusters of berries crimson as the drops
That my heart bleeds when I remember
How often, in how many a far November,
Of childhood and my children's childhood I was glad,
With the wild rapture of the Fall,
Of all the beauty, and of all
The ruin, now so intolerably sad.

William Dean Howells (American, 1837-1920)

Originally e-mailed on Monday, November 02, 1998 @ 8:06 AM.

Lane Core Jr. CIW P — Sun. 11/02/08 09:17:46 AM
Categorized as Literary & Random Poetry List.

   
         
         

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