They were yellow, but dusky and sere;
That eve was the worst of November’s,
And they are the worst of the year.
’Twas an eve that one surely remembers,
Being out in the dusk with my dear;
For the fire was gone out to weak embers;
So I went out too, with my dear.
Hear then! Through an alley Satanic—
Of hemlock, I roam’d with my love,—
Of hemlock with Sarah, my love.