Page:Collected poems of Flecker.djvu/269



November Evenings! Damp and still  They used to cloak Leckhampton hill,  And lie down close on the grey plain,  And dim the dripping window-pane,  And send queer winds like Harlequins  That seized our elms for violins  And struck a note so sharp and low  Even a child could feel the woe.

Now fire chased shadow round the room;  Tables and chairs grew vast in gloom:  We crept about like mice, while Nurse  Sat mending, solemn as a hearse,  And even our unlearned eyes  Half closed with choking memories.

Is it the mist or the dead leaves,  Or the dead men−November eves ? 