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November

  • Some of the days in November carry the whole memory of summer as a fire opal carries the color of moonrise.

  • Long cold nights mark November's return, grey rains fall, wind walks in the bronze oak leaves.

  • November wind has a sound different from any other. It is easy to imagine the cave of the winds in some mythical Northland where the winds are born and the gods send them out to conquer the quiet air.

  • Dull November brings the blast, / Then the leaves are whirling fast.

    • Sara Coleridge,
    • "The Months," Pretty Lessons in Verse for Good Children ()
  • ... it was one of those wet, miserable evenings, gratis copies distributed by November through the year.

  • November's night is dark and drear, / The dullest month of all the year.

    • L.E. Landon,
    • "Frances Beaumont," Traits and Trials of Early Life ()
  • Why has no one written a November rhapsody with plenty of lilt and swing? The poets who are moved at all by this month seem only stirred to lamentation, giving us year end and 'melancholy days' remarks, thereby showing that theory is stronger than observation among the rhyming brotherhood, or else that they have chronic indigestion and no gardens to stimulate them.

  • Let others deck them as they please / In frill and furbelow. / She scorns alike the fripperies / Of flowers and of snow.

  • ... in November you begin to know how long the winter will be.

  • November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year.

  • The world is tired, the year is old, / The faded leaves are glad to die.

  • November at its best — with a sort of delightful menace in the air.

  • Here's November, / The year's sad daughter ...

  • November has a way of her own. Crisp air, swaying Spanish needles, echo of honking geese held in memory from the night, motors passing on the radio. ... To take to the road, that would be the thing.

    • Blanche H. Dow,
    • "Roads and Vistas," in Jean Beaven Abernethy, ed., Meditations for Women ()
  • November is chill, frosted mornings with a silver sun rising behind the trees, red cardinals at the feeders, and squirrels running scallops along the tops of the gray stone walls.

  • I like the gray / November day, / And bare, dead boughs / That coldly sway / Against my pane. / I like the rain. / I like to sit / and laugh at it — / And Tend / My cozy fire a bit, / I like the fall — / The mist and all --