November woods are bare and still;
November days are clear and bright;
Each noon burns up the morning’s chill;
The morning’s snow is gone by night…
November woods are bare and still;
November days are bright and good;
Life’s noon burns up life’s morning chill;
Life’s night rests feet which long have stood…
~Helen Fiske Hunt Jackson (1830–1885), “Down to Sleep.”
Tag: poetry
November Comes ~ Elisabeth Coatsworth
November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
~Elizabeth Coatsworth (1893–1986)
Sara Teasdale, November
The world is tired, the year is old,
The faded leaves are glad to die…
~Sara Teasdale, “November”
John Ruskin, The Months
October’s foliage yellows with his cold:
In rattling showers dark November’s rain,
From every stormy cloud, descends amain,
Till keen December’s snows close up the year again.
~John Ruskin, “The Months,” c.1834
Perhaps If Death Is Kind ~ Sara Teasdale Poem
“Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.
We will come down at night to these resounding beaches
And the long gentle thunder of the sea,
Here for a single hour in the wide starlight
We shall be happy, for the dead are free.”
~ Sara Teasdale
Nature ~ Alfred Tennyson
If Nature put not forth her power
About the opening of the flower,
Who is it that could live an hour?
~Alfred Tennyson, The Two Voices
Emotion
“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”
~ Robert Frost
