poet Helen Hunt Jackson

Helen Hunt Jackson

#206 on top 500 poets

A Calendar Of Sonnets: November

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Willidly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain?

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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Comments about A Calendar Of Sonnets: November by Helen Hunt Jackson

  • Tapan M. SarenTapan M. Saren (9/2/2016 11:28:00 PM)

    Truly very beautiful poetry...

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  • Susan WilliamsSusan Williams (4/2/2016 3:50:00 PM)

    Nailed it! ! ! ! Which does not surprise me about Helen Hunt Jackson who personifies all that is magnificent and humble and beautiful and savage about the true poet in this complexly beautiful and cruel world.

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    19 person liked.
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Read poems about / on: summer, autumn, snow, joy, pain, night, flower