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<p id="id00577" style="margin-top: 2em"><i>November</i></p>
<p id="id00578">Sybil of months, and worshipper of winds,<br/>
I love thee, rude and boisterous as thou art;<br/>
And scraps of joy my wandering ever finds<br/>
Mid thy uproarious madness—when the start<br/>
Of sudden tempests stirs the forest leaves<br/>
Into hoarse fury, till the shower set free<br/>
Stills the huge swells. Then ebb the mighty heaves,<br/>
That sway the forest like a troubled sea.<br/>
I love thy wizard noise, and rave in turn<br/>
Half-vacant thoughts and rhymes of careless form;<br/>
Then hide me from the shower, a short sojourn,<br/>
Neath ivied oak; and mutter to the storm,<br/>
Wishing its melody belonged to me,<br/>
That I might breathe a living song to thee.<br/></p>
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