Verse > Anthologies > Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. > An American Anthology, 1787–1900
Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).  An American Anthology, 1787–1900.  1900.
424. November
By Elizabeth Stoddard
MUCH have I spoken of the faded leaf;
  Long have I listened to the wailing wind,
And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds,
  For autumn charms my melancholy mind.
When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge:        5
  The year must perish; all the flowers are dead;
The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail
  Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!
Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer,
  The holly-berries and the ivy-tree:        10
They weave a chaplet for the Old Year’s bier,
  These waiting mourners do not sing for me!
I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods,
  Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss;
The naked, silent trees have taught me this,—        15
  The loss of beauty is not always loss!


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