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Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon


November


Together we laughed and talked in the warm--lit room:
Out now, alone I come
Into the street, in the fall of the early night.
Shadowy skies, with a pale uncertain gloom,
Hover above the houses dim; but bright
In wetness mirrored far,
Retreating lamps outshine the lingering light.
Hazily blue the air, heavy with dews
The wind; and before me the cries and the crowd,
And the sleepless murmur of wheels; not loud,
For a magical softness all imbrues.
The softness estranges my sense: I see and I hear,
But know 'tis a vision intangible, shapes that seem.
All is unreal; the sound of the falling of feet,
Coming figures, and far--off hum of the street;
A dream, the gliding hurry, the endless lights,
Houses and sky, a dream, a dream! 



Robert Laurence Binyon


Robert Laurence Binyon's other poems:
  1. No More Now with Jealous Complaining
  2. The Zeppelin
  3. The Fourth of August
  4. A Child in Nature, as a Child in Years
  5. In the High Leaves of a Walnut


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • John Clare November ("The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon")
  • Hartley Coleridge November ("THE mellow year is hasting to its close")
  • 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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