The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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A day.

talk not of sad November, when a day
     Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon,
And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June,
     Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray.

On the unfrosted pool the pillared pines
     Lay their long shafts of shadow: the small rill,
Singing a pleasant song of summer still,
     A line of silver, down the hill-slope shines.

[94] Hushed the bird-voices and the hum of bees,
     In the thin grass the crickets pipe no more;
But still the squirrel hoards his winter store,
     And drops his nut-shells from the shag-bark trees.

Softly the dark green hemlocks whisper: high
     Above, the spires of yellowing larches show,
Where the woodpecker and home-loving crow
     And jay and nut-hatch winter's threat defy.

O gracious beauty, ever new and old!
     O sights and sounds of nature, doubly dear
When the low sunshine warns the closing year
     Of snow-blown fields and waves of Arctic cold!

Close to my heart I fold each lovely thing
     The sweet day yields; and, not disconsolate,
With the calm patience of the woods I wait
     For leaf and blossom when God gives us Spring!

29th, Eleventh Month, 1886.