EARLY NOVEMBER DAYS 



THERE are days in November, the month of damp, 

 drizzle and darkness, surpassed by few in the whole 

 year, days when slumbering dawn hesitates in the 

 heavy curtains of mist, which slowly drift and melt 

 away and leave a dew-drenched earth in sunshine. 

 THE MORNING From hill-top crest, already kissed by brilliant 



FOG LIFTS 



sun, I watched a sea of mist (as if the snow-white 

 fleecy monsters of the heavens had fallen low and 

 settled on the earth), watched the shrouding, silent 

 mass grow restless ; the swell of heaving soundless 

 waves arise and fall, then, lifting in the sunshine, 

 thin out to filmy wisps, which seem to struggle 

 and thrust out arms in vain, only to succumb, then 

 vanish and depart, leaving behind the sun-bathed 

 vales, where their soft billowy waves have been too 

 gentle to disturb the glories of many yet unfallen 

 leaves. 



Lingering autumn in its marvellous later beauty 

 is dressed in shades of russet-copper and rusty-brown, 

 and in the stillness, Nature seems to stop and drink 



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