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