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The Month of November.

Nov 7, 2021

Image: November - clipartpanda.com
 
"Over the river and through the woods
Trot fast my dapple gray.
Spring over the ground
Like a hunting hound
On this Thanksgiving Day, Hey!
Over the river and through the woods
Now Grandmother's face I spy.
Hurrah for the fun,
Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie."
-   English folksong, It's Raining, It's Pouring
 
"I saw the lovely arch
Of rainbow span the sky,
The gold sun burning
As the rain swept by."
-   Elizabeth Coatsworth, November
 
"Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are whirling fast."
-  Sara Coleridge
 
"O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being.
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing."
-  Percy Bysshe Shelley
 
"In the garden, Autumn is, indeed the crowning glory of the year, bringing us the fruition of months of thought
and care and toil.  And at no season, safe perhaps in Daffodil time, do we get such superb colour effects as
from August to November."
-   Rose G. Kingsley, The Autumn Garden
 
"November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
 
With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
 
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring."
-  Elizabeth Coatsworth
 
"So dull and dark are the November days.
The lazy mist high up the evening curled,
And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze;
The place we occupy seems all the world."
-   John Clare, November
 
"Our Father, fill our hearts, we pray,
With gratitude Thanksgiving Day;
For food and raiment Thou dost give,
That we in comfort here may live."
-   Luther Cross, Thanksgiving Day 
 
"November always seemed to me the Norway of the year."
-   Emily Dickinson
 
"No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member -
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds -
November!"
-   Thomas Hood, No!
 
"The last seed
falls from the sunflower-
empty pond.
 
The long awaited
rattle of rain on rooftops-
Thanksgiving Day."
-  Michael P. Garofalo, Cuttings 
 
"If it is true that one of the greatest pleasures of gardening lies in looking forward, then the planning of next year's beds and borders must be one of the most agreeable occupations in the gardener's calendar.  This should make October and November particularly pleasant months, for then we may begin to clear our borders, to cut down those sodden and untidy stalks, to dig up and increase our plants, and to move them to other positions where they will show up to greater effect.  People who are not gardeners always say that the bare beds of winter are uninteresting; gardeners know better, and take even a certain pleasure in the neatness of the newly dug, bare, brown earth."
-   Vita Sackville-West
 
"In the evenings
I scrape my fingernails clean,
hunt through old catalogues for new seed,
oil work boots and shears.
This garden is no metaphor --
more a task that swallows you into itself,
earth using, as always, everything it can."
-  Jan Hirshfield, November, Remembering Voltaire
 
"November's sky is chill and drear,
November's leaf is red and sear."
-   Sir Walter Scott
 
"The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on."
-  Emily Dickinson
 
"Give me the end of the year an' its fun
When most of the plannin' an' toilin' is done;
Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,
Let me sit down with the ones I love best,
Hear the old voices still ringin' with song,
See the old faces unblemished by wrong,
See the old table with all of its chairs
An' I'll put soul in my Thanksgivin' prayers."
-  Edgar A. Guest, Thanksgiving
 
"A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves
with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed,
are as crisp as autumn air."
-   Eric Sloane
 
"All in November's soaking mist
We stand and prune the naked tree,
While all our love and interest
Seem quenched in the blue-nosed misery."
-  Ruth Pitter, 1897-1992, The Diehards, 1941
 
"The sky is streaked with them
burning hole in black space --
like fireworks, someone says
all friendly in the dark chill
of Newcomb Hollow in November,
friends known only by voices.
 
We lie on the cold sand and it
embraces us, this beach
where locals never go in summer
and boast of their absence. Now
we lie eyes open to the flowers
of white ice that blaze over us
 
and seem to imprint directly
on our brains. I feel the earth,
rolling beneath as we face out
into the endlessness we usually
ignore. Past the evanescent
meteors, infinity pulls hard."
-   Marge Piercy, Leonids Over Us
 
"There is music in the meadows, in the air --
Autumn is here;
Skies are gray, but hearts are mellow,
Leaves are crimson, brown, and yellow;
Pines are soughing, birches stir,
And the Gipsy trail is fresh beneath the fir.
 
There is rhythm in the woods, and in the fields,
Nature yields:
And the harvest voices crying,
Blend with Autumn zephyrs sighing;
Tone and color, frost and fire,
Wings the nocturne Nature plays upon her lyre."
-   William Stanley Braithwaite, Lyric of Autumn
 
"How wonderful it would be if we could help our children and grandchildren to learn thanksgiving at an early age.
Thanksgiving opens the doors.  It changes a child's personality.  A child is resentful, negative—or thankful.
Thankful children want to give, they radiate happiness, they draw people."
-   Sir John Templeton
 
"When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain."
-  Guns N' Roses, November Rain
 
"The white sun
like a moth
on a string
circles the southpole."
-   A. R. Ammons, Late November 
 
"The name 'November' is believed to derive from 'novem' which is the Latin for the number 'nine'.  In the ancient
Roman calendar November was the ninth month after March.  As part of the seasonal calendar November is the
time of the 'Snow Moon' according to Pagan beliefs and the period described as the 'Moon of the Falling Leaves'
by Black Elk."
-   Mystical WWW
 
"The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,
Ya-honk!  he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation:
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer,
I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky."
-   Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1855, I Celebrate Myself, Line 238
 
"The body is like a November birch facing the full moon
And reaching into the cold heavens.
In these trees there is no ambition, no sodden body, no leaves,
Nothing but bare trunks climbing like cold fire!
 
My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn
I must return to the trapped fields,
To the obedient earth.
The trees shall be reaching all the winter.
 
It is a joy to walk in the bare woods.
The moonlight is not broken by the heavy leaves.
The leaves are down, and touching the soaked earth,
Giving off the odors that partridges love."
-   Robert Bly, Solitude Late at Night in the Woods
 
"You shared the spark,
You fanned the flame,
You fed the fires,
You passed the Names.
For all those known and
For all unnamed,
For all who have walked the Way;
We raise this toast,
With thanks this day."
-  Mike Garofalo,  Kindreds, Cuttings 
 
"How cold it is! Even the lights are cold;
They have put shawls of fog around them, see!
What if the air should grow so dimly white
That we would lose our way along the paths
Made new by walls of moving mist receding
The more we follow. . . . What a silver night!
That was our bench the time you said to me
The long new poem -- but how different now,
How eerie with the curtain of the fog
Making it strange to all the friendly trees!"
-   Sara Teasdale, A November Night 
 
"It's all a farce, – these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying."
-   Paul Laurence Dunbar,  Lyrics of a Lowly Life
 
"This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Wildly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain?"
-  Helen Hunt Jackson, Autumn Sonnet
 
"On this bleary white afternoon,
are there fires lit up in heaven
against such faking of quickness
and light, such windy discoursing?
 
While November numbly collapses,
this beech tree, heavy as death
on the lawn, braces for throat-
cutting ice, bandaging snow."
-    Edwin Honig, November Through a Giant Copper Beech
 
"Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn."
-   Elizabeth Lawrence
 
"Yea, I have looked, and seen November there;
The changeless seal of change it seemed to be,
Fair death of things that, living once, were fair;
Bright sign of loneliness too great for me,
Strange image of the dread eternity,
In whose void patience how can these have part,
These outstretched feverish hands, this restless heart?"
-  William Morris, November
 
"A tingling, misty marvel
  Blew hither in the night,
And now the little peach-trees
  Are clasped in frozen light.
 
Upon the apple-branches
  An icy film is caught,
With trailing threads of gossamer
  In pearly patterns wrought.
 
The autumn sun, in wonder,
  Is gayly peering through
This silver-tissued network
  Across the frosty blue.
 
The weather-vane is fire-tipped,
  The honeysuckle shows
A dazzling icy splendor,
  And crystal is the rose."
-   Evaleen Stein, November Morning
 
"Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem:
There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground
But holds some joy of silence or of sound,
Some spirits begotten of a summer dream."
-   Laman Blanchard
 
"All the cabbages in our garden are robust and green to the core;
All the peppers are dead and black, not red anymore.
The onions are thriving, the tomatoes all gone,
The lettuce is rising, the pecans all stored;
It’s wet now in Red Bluff, Winter’s knocking at the door."
- Mike Garofalo, Cuttings
 
"Fog in November, trees have no heads,
Streams only sound, walls suddenly stop
Half-way up hills, the ghost of a man spreads
Dung on dead fields for next year's crop.
I cannot see my hand before my face,
My body does not seem to be my own,
The world becomes a far-off, foreign place,
People are strangers, houses silent, unknown."
-   Leonard Clark, Fog in November



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