MY NOVEMBER GUEST

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 walks 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 grey
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.

(2 votes, average: 5,00 out of 5)

Podobne wiersze:

Hear the Voice HEAR the voice of the Bard, Who present, past, and future, sees; Whose ears have heard The Holy Word That […]...
The Bluebell The Bluebell is the sweetest flower That waves in summer air: Its blossoms have the mightiest power To soothe my […]...
September September The golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. […]...
On The Grasshopper And Cricket The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in […]...
Fortune and Men’s Eyes MARY: Well, headsman?… You ask not why I came here, Clouded Brow, Will you not ask me why I stay? […]...
Sun of the Sleepless Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam grows tremulously far, That show’st the darkness thou canst not dispel […]...
Pieśń Rudego Hanrahana o Irlandii / Red Hanrahan’s Song about Ireland Wysoko nad Cummon Strand’em łamią się stare głogi We wściekłym wichrze, co z lewa dmie i spycha z drogi. Pęka […]...
[ANG] The Snow Man One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; […]...
Requiescat Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden […]...
Valedictory ValedictoryI had remarked – how sharply one observes When life is disappearing round the curves Of yet another corner, out […]...
BIRCHES When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think […]...
Samuel Beckett „The Vulture” Dragging his hinger through the sky of my skull shell of sky and earth strooping to the prone who must […]...
Duty free fear Duty free fear is all I am. Darkened by the sun’s magic hand. The moon appear trivial, in disguise, Above […]...
AN OLD MAN’S WINTER NIGHT All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on […]...
„The balcony” Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses, O thou, my pleasure, thou, all my desire, Thou shalt recall the beauty of […]...
PUTTING IN THE SEED You come to fetch me from my work to-night When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see If I can […]...
„O, Samotności!” O, Samotności! Najsłodszy wyborze! Wy – Miejsca od zgiełku tak oddalone, Oddane ślepej, nocnej porze, Jakże koicie me myśli strapione! […]...
Spirits of the Dead [Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems, 1829] Thy soul shall find itself alone ‚Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone […]...
Serenade So sweet the hour, so calm the time, I feel it more than half a crime, When Nature sleeps and […]...
THE TUFT OF FLOWERS I went to turn the grass once after one Who mowed it in the dew before the sun. The dew […]...
THE MOUNTAIN The mountain held the town as in a shadow. I saw so much before I slept there once: I noticed […]...
Someone Is Harshly Coughing as Before Someone is harshly coughing on the next floor, Sudden excitement catching the flesh of his throat: Who is the sick […]...
To Winter O Winter! Bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there has thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not […]...
Poeta wspomina zapomniane piękno / He Remembers Forgotten Beauty When my arms wrap you round I press My heart upon the loveliness That has long faded from the world; […]...
[ANG] Sunday Morning 1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a […]...
T. S. Eliot – The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock S’io credesse chc mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa Gamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma […]...
Ave Imperatrix Set in this stormy Northern sea, Queen of these restless fields of tide, England! what shall men say of thee, […]...
A Woman Waits for Me A Woman Waits for Me A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking […]...
All for love O talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of […]...
(ANG) Like Decorations in the nigger cemetery I In the far South the sun of autumn is passing Like Walt Whitman walking along a ruddy shore. He […]...
[ANG] The River of Rivers in Connecticut There is a great river this side of Stygia Before one comes to the first black cataracts And trees that […]...
To A Skylark (eng.) Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In […]...
Ode to a Nightingale I My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied […]...
[ANG] To The One Of Fictive Music Sister and mother and diviner love, And of the sisterhood of the living dead Most near, most clear, and of […]...
[ANG] Madame la Fleurie Weight him down, O side-stars, with the great weightings of the end. Seal him there. He looked in a glass […]...
Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden lived whom you […]...
[ANG] Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing Itself At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outside Seemed like a sound in his mind. […]...
T. S. Eliot – Preludes I The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o’clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. […]...
The Nightingale unheard The Nightingale unheard Yes, Nightingale, through all the summer-time We followed on, from moon to golden moon; From where Salerno […]...
Zakochany Mówi o Róży w Swoim Sercu / The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart Wszystkie rzeczy brzydkie, zepsute, stare i zniszczone, Płacz dziecka obok drogi, wóz, który skrzypi i zgrzyta, Ciężkie kroki oracza, co […]...