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