A NOVEMBER GOOD-NIGHT.
��A NOVEMBER GOOD-NIGHT.
GOOD-NIGHT, little shivering grasses ! Tis idle to struggle and fight With tempest and cruel frost-fingers ; Lie down, little grasses, to-night !
The roses have gone from the garden,
And hidden their faces so fair ; The lilies have never uplifted
Since Frost found them bending in prayer.
The aster and dahlia fought bravely, Till Ice, with his glittering crest,
A diamond dagger laid over
The bloom of each velvety breast.
The leaves of the forest lie faded,
Dry stubble is left after grain ; Yet you, little grasses, still struggle,
Still hope for the soft summer rain.
Nay, nay, even now there is weaving Above you the fleece of. the snow ;
The star-pattern tracks the white shuttle Through the loom of the storm to and fro,
Until over the moor and the mountain Twill lie like a thrice-blessed stole,
And the beggarly rays of November Be made in the day-dawning whole. 11*