Tuesday, February 17, 2015

November



November! The forest is bleak and bare,
     And the leaves are brown and dying;
While over the hill with a biting chill
     Comes the autumn winds a-sighing.
A startled deer in the forest glade
     Looks up while a twig is breaking,
And face to face, with consummate grace,
     Two “dears” stand silently quaking.

Arrayed in the garb of a huntress bold,
     Her steel in the sunlight gleaming,
Waits the hunting maid, as tho’ half afraid
     Of the deer with its soft eyes teeming.
A moment, and then with a leisure step
     It strolls to the woodland cover,
While the huntress fair, with a grateful air,
     Seems glad the “adventure” is over.



Feb. 17, 1901


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