It was November---the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.
LM Montgomery
A barren realm of withered fields,
Bleak woods, and falling leaves,
The palest morns that ever dawned…
R.H. Stoddard
…When shriek’d
The bleak November winds, and smote the woods,
And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades
That met above the merry rivulet,
Were spoil’d, I sought, I loved them still---they seem’d
Like old companions in adversity.
William Cullen Bryant
