Day 838: Hello November

 

November is such a maligned month isn't it? The bringer of dark and cold.  As Longfellow says of it here, 'I shroud myself in gloom; and to the race of mortals bring nor comfort nor delight.'  This is a feeling that is reflected in a lot of poems about November which I will be sharing here this month. But, some of them shimmer with a little of the month's magic too: starry nights, bright moons, first snows.  Stay tuned for a seasonal synopsis.

November (from The Poet's Calendar) - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
 
The Centaur, Sagittarius, am I,
  Born of Ixion's and the cloud's embrace;
With sounding hoofs across the earth I fly,
  A steed Thessalian with a human face.
Sharp winds the arrows are with which I chase
  The leaves, half dead already with affright;
I shroud myself in gloom; and to the race
  Of mortals bring nor comfort nor delight.