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.