The acrid scents of autumn, reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear... ( D. H. Lawrence)

 My boy Robinson:


"The wild November come at last
Beneath a veil of rain;
The night winds blows its folds aside,
Her face is full of pain.
The latest of her race, she takes
The Autumn's vacant throne:
She has but one short moon to live,
And she must live alone."
-  Richard Henry Stoddard, November


































































































































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