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Poem by James Elroy Flecker November Eves November Evenings! Damp and still They used to cloak Leckhampton hill, And lie down close on the grey plain, And dim the dripping window-pane, And send queer winds like Harlequins That seized our elms for violins And struck a note so sharp and low Even a child could feel the woe. Now fire chased shadow round the room; Tables and chairs grew vast in gloom: We crept about like mice, while Nurse Sat mending, solemn as a hearse, And even our unlearned eyes Half closed with choking memories. Is it the mist or the dead leaves, Or the dead men−November eves? James Elroy Flecker James Elroy Flecker's other poems: 1223 Views |
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