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november.
O'er the fallen leaves he takes his way
Whispering, and murmuring themes of sorrow;
He points at the cloud which veils the day,
And smiting his breast, he seems to say,
"It shall burst on thy head to-morrow!"
Then he hints, in deep sepulchral tone,
At the peace which is under the church-yard stone!
Whispering, and murmuring themes of sorrow;
He points at the cloud which veils the day,
And smiting his breast, he seems to say,
"It shall burst on thy head to-morrow!"
Then he hints, in deep sepulchral tone,
At the peace which is under the church-yard stone!
November, ever by thy side
Lurk wan despair, ungenial pride!
No roses round thy mornings bloom,
And thy eve descends with tenfold gloom,
Gladness, abash'd when thou art nigh,
Enforced heaves a timid sigh;
Lo! blighted by thy withering frown
Love, sickening, sees his myrtle crown
Fade, fall, and change, beneath his eye
Lurk wan despair, ungenial pride!
No roses round thy mornings bloom,
And thy eve descends with tenfold gloom,
Gladness, abash'd when thou art nigh,
Enforced heaves a timid sigh;
Lo! blighted by thy withering frown
Love, sickening, sees his myrtle crown
Fade, fall, and change, beneath his eye
