| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | November |
| | | | Fie upon thee, November! thou dost ape |
| The airs of thy young sisters;—thou hast stolen |
| The witching smile of May to grace thy lip, |
| And April’s rare capricious loveliness |
| Thou’rt trying to put on! |
Julia C. R. Dorr. | 1 |
| | The wild November comes at last |
| Beneath a veil of rain; |
| The night wind blows its folds aside, |
| Her face is full of pain. |
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| 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. |
R. H. Stoddard. | 2 |
| | In rattling showers dark November’s rain, |
| From every stormy cloud, descends amain. |
Ruskin. | 3 |
| | On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered; |
| Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, |
| Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them |
| Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree. |
| * * * * * |
| Dreary is the time when the flowers of earth are withered. |
William Cullen Bryant. | 4 |
| | The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, |
| Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. |
| Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; |
| They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread; |
| The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, |
| And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. |
William Cullen Bryant. | 5 | | |
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