The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,
And men delight to linger in thy ray.
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.
William C. Bryant.
NOVEMBER.
November’s sky is chill and drear,
November’s leaf is red and sree;
Late, gazing down the steepy linn,
That hems our little garden in,