Birds and Nature, Vol. 10 No. 4 [November 1901]

NOVEMBER

Though I sorrow it to say,November is a churl alway,Miserly, beside the fire,Just outside the echoing choir,Sits he peevishly, and pondersOn this life and all its wonders,Hearing through the grudging screenOrgan notes, that slip betweenPrayers for dead men and dead hopes,While the priests, in ’broidered copes,Sing to heaven; yet not for himGoes up the incense or the hymn.Fie, November!– Walter Thornbury, “The Twelve Brothers.”