Some of the days in November carry the whole memory of summer as a fire opal carries the color of moonrise.

 My girl Mary:




Autumn I love thy latter end to view 

 In cold Novembers days so bleak and bare 

 When like life's dwindld thread worn nearly thro 

Wi lingering pottering pace and head bleach'd bare 

Thou like an old man bids the world adieu.  



 























































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