Madison Cawein - A November Sketch lyrics

The hoar-frost hisses 'neath the feet, And the worm-fence's straggling length, Smote by the morning's slanted strength, Sparkles one rib of virgin sleet. To withered fields the crisp breeze talks, And silently and sadly lifts The bronz'd leaves from the beech and drifts Them wadded down the woodland walks. Reluctantly and one by one The worthless leaves sift slowly down, And thro' the mournful vistas blown Drop rustling, and their rest is won. Where stands the brook beneath its fall, Thin-scaled with ice the pool is bound, And on the pebbles scattered 'round The ooze is frozen; one and all White as rare crystals shining fair. There stirs no life: the faded wood Mourns sighing, and the solitude Seems shaken with a mighty care. Decay and silence sadly drape The vigorous limbs of oldest trees, The rotting leaves and rocks whose knees Are shagged with moss, with misty crape. To sullenness the surly crow All his derisive feeling yields, And o'er the barren stubble-fields Flaps cawless, wrapped in hungry woe. The eve comes on: the teasel stoops Its spike-crowned head before the blast; The tattered leaves drive whirling past Like skeletons in whistling troops. The pithy elder copses sigh; Their broad blue combs with berries weighed, Like heavy pendulums are swayed With ev'ry gust that hurries by. Thro' matted walls of tangled brier That hedge the lane, the sumachs thrust Their scarlet torches red as rust, Burning with flames of stolid fire. The evening's here—cold, hard, and drear; The lavish West with bullion bright Of molten silver walls the night Far as one star's thin rays appear. Wedged toward the West's cold luridness The wild geese fly 'neath roseless domes; The wild cry of the leader comes Distant and harsh with loneliness. The pale West dies, and in its cup Bubble on bubble pours the night: The East glows with a mystic light; The stars are keen; the moon is up.