November
A hint of slumber in the wind,
A dreamful stir of blades and stalks,
As tenderly the twilight flows
Down all my garden walks.
My robes of work are thrown aside,
The odor of the grass is sweet;
The pleasure of a day well spent
Bathes me from head to feet.
Calmly I wait the dreary change,—
The season cutting sharp and sheer
Through the wan bowers of death that fringe
The border of the year.
And while I muse, the fated earth
Into a colder current dips,—
Feels winter's scourge with summer's kiss
Still warm upon her lips.
~~
Maurice Thompson (1844-1901)
from Poems, 1892
from Poems, 1892
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
_-_panoramio_(5).jpg)
Carlos Honda, Suzuka Flower Park, November 2013. CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons.
I like the ABCB rhyme scheme and the unusual meter 8/8/8/6, effective. November well decribed. Poetic statements about his day. Well articulated. Mention of how November makes him feel, the word "dreary" "sharp" "sheer" "death", harsh, to describe this time of year ... yet true. We give up so much as the seasons change from summer, fall, to winter. The poem a lamentation of sorts. Ending with the musing memory of a kiss upon her lips. Spring and summer's promise to return. Thanks George. 💟💟💟💟💟💟
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