NOVEMBER THE tale of wake is told; the stage is bare, The - TopicsExpress



          

NOVEMBER THE tale of wake is told; the stage is bare, The curtain falls upon the ended play; Novembers fogs arise, to hide away The withered wrack of that which was so fair: Summer is gone to be with things that were. The sun is fallen from his ancient sway; The night primaeval trenches on the day: Without, the Winter waits upon the stair. Stern herald of the wintry wrath to come, The mist-month treads upon Octobers feet, Muting the small birds songs, the insects hum, And all involving in its winding-sheet, Graves on the frontal of the failing year, All hope abandon, ye who enter here! John Payne
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 11:35:22 +0000

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