November is often accompanied by sadness and sorrow. It is a logical effect of its bleak demeanor. But, as Robert Frost seems to state here, it need not be something to be dreaded.
He embraces his sorrow, personified here as a feminine presence, who finds the month beautiful - 'she loves the bare, the withered tree...worsted gray is silver now'. Sorrow can be beautiful, for it teaches us how to look more deeply at the world and revel in any mere hints of beauty we see. The poet here looks on his sorrow as a companion, not a foe, a guest, not a burden, a way of learning to be in the season, not berate it. So much so that he is able to find beauty and even balm in November too.
My November Guest - Robert Frost
My
Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks
these dark days of autumn rain
Are
beautiful as days can be;
She
loves the bare, the withered tree;
She
walked the sodden pasture lane.
Her
pleasure will not let me stay.
She
talks and I am fain to list:
She's
glad the birds are gone away,
She's
glad her simple worsted gray
Is
silver now with clinging mist.
The
desolate, deserted trees,
The
faded earth, the heavy sky,
The
beauties she so truly sees,
She
thinks I have no eye for these,
And
vexes me for reason why.
Not
yesterday I learned to know
The
love of bare November days
Before
the coming of the snow,
But
it were vain to tell her so,
And
they are better for her praise.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I'd love to hear what you think! To leave a comment - comment as/sign in with your Google ID if you have one, or website or blog address, or if these don't apply, sign in as Anonymous, and leave your name if you like!