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Poem by Hartley Coleridge


November


THE mellow year is hasting to its close:
The little birds have almost sung their last,
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast -
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows; -
The patient beauty of the scentless rose,
Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed,
Hangs a pale mourner for the summer past,
And makes a little summer where it grows; -
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day
The dusky waters shudder as they shine;
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define,
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array,
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy-twine. 



Hartley Coleridge


Hartley Coleridge's other poems:
  1. LinesЧЧ
  2. To a Deaf and Dumb Little Girl
  3. How Long I Sailed
  4. Address To Certain Golfishes
  5. Full Well I Know


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • John Clare November ("The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon")
  • Robert Binyon November ("Together we laughed and talked in the warm--lit room")
  • William Cartwright November ("Thou Sun that shed'st the Dayes, looke downe and see")
  • William Bryant November ("Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!")
  • John Payne November ("THE tale of wake is told; the stage is bare")
  • Frederick Tuckerman November ("Oh! who is there of us that has not felt")
  • Duncan Scott November ("Above the lifeless pools the mist films swim")

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