I will never tire of reading this poem in November. I love it more - TopicsExpress

I will never tire of reading this poem in November. I love it more each year. Poem: My November Guest by Robert Frost from Collected Poems, Prose, and Plays.© Library of America. Reprinted with permission. My November Guest My Sorrow, when shes here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: Shes glad the birds are gone away, Shes glad her simple worsted gray Is silver now with clinging mist. The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so truly sees, She thinks I have no eye for these, And vexes me for reason why. Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell her so, For they are better for her praise.

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