A November Grave / James B. Kenyon

A November Grave

The grey clouds gather, fold on fold,
Above the blurred and dripping wold;
The light is growing pale and cold,
    And ghostly mists steal o'er the plain.

A robin in the elm is crying;
About the eaves the wind is sighing;
O dismal day! my heart is lying
    In yon fresh grave drenched with the rain.

~~
James B. Kenyon (1858-1924)
from At the Gate of Dreams, 1892

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

James B. Kenyon biography

Dave Hitchborne, Gravestone, St. Andrew's graveyard, Miningsby, 2007. 

CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.