My sorrow, when she’s here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She’s glad the birds are gone away, She’s glad her simple worsted gray Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so truly sees, She thinks I have no eye for these, And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell her so, And they are better for her praise. ~ Robert Frost
We had several killing frosts (as well as our first snowfall) this week, and this morning the temperature dipped into the 20’s, brrr! And, with all that my garden is done for the year. Which is perhaps the greatest sadness ever! I find that I can relate to Robert Frost’s November Guest. He makes the depression that comes with November somehow haunting and beautiful. He certainly gives a body much to ponder on a frosty Saturday!
Enjoy your day, Gentle Readers.