Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
NovemberJohn Keble (17921866)
R
The line of yellow light dies fast away
That crown’d the eastern copse; and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.
And Echo bids good-night from every glade;
Yet wait awhile and see the calm leaves float
Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.
And yet no second spring have they in store;
But where they fall, forgotten to abide
Is all their portion, and they ask no more.
A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold,
The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,
And all be vernal rapture as of old.
In all the world of busy life around
No thought of them—in all the bounteous sky
No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.
Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part
With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain
As his when Eden held his virgin heart.