Archibald Lampman

(17 November 1861 - 10 February 1899 / Morpeth, Ontario)

In November (1) - Poem by Archibald Lampman

The leafless forests slowly yield
To the thick-driving snow. A little while
And night shall darken down. In shouting file
The woodmen's carts go by me homeward-wheeled,
Past the thin fading stubbles, half concealed,
Now golden-gray, sowed softly through with snow,
Where the last ploughman follows still his row,
Turning black furrows through the whitening field.
Far off the village lamps begin to gleam,
Fast drives the snow, and no man comes this way;
The hills grow wintry white, and bleak winds moan
About the naked uplands. I alone
Am neither sad, nor shelterless, nor gray,
Wrapped round with thought, content to watch and dream.


Comments about In November (1) by Archibald Lampman

  • Susan Williams (9/30/2015 3:30:00 PM)


    The rhyming is spontaneous, leaping naturally from his skilled pen: The woodmen's carts go by me homeward-wheeled,
    Past the thin fading stubbles, half concealed,
    Now golden-gray, sowed softly through with snow,
    Where the last ploughman follows still his row,
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: snow, sad, dream, alone, night, wind



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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