November Poems
NOVEMBER by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The Centaur, Sagittarius, am I, Born of Ixion’s and the cloud’s embrace; With sounding hoofs across the earth I fly, A steed Thessalian with a human face. Sharp winds the arrows are with which I chase The leaves, half dead already with affright; I shroud myself in gloom; and to the race Of mortals bring nor comfort nor delight. *** A Calendar of Sonnets: November by Helen Hunt Jackson This is the treacherous month when autumn days With summer’s voice come...
