IN blackness sinks the dull November day, 



With gathering night the air grows bitter chill, 

 While, over sodden field and leafless hill, 



The wind, in sullen mood, disturbs the curtained 

 gray. 



No tardy color breaks the dreary line, 

 No bird note lingers in the frosty air, 

 The skies are blank, the earth is cold and bare, 



Hope droops her shining wings, and gives no 

 happier sign. 



Mute Sorrow broods above the lonely heath, 

 And folds us closer in her funeral pall; 

 Our sinking hearts accept the doom of all, 



And still obey her word who bringeth life and 

 death. 



Yet not alone the symbols of decay, 



We can but see the signs of newer birth ; 

 Pillowed on quiet snows, the sleeping earth 



Holds all her power in check, and waits the com 

 ing day ! 



QI 



