NOVEMBER.

Sombre November, least belov'd of all

The months that make the pleasurable year,

Too late for the resplendence of the fall,

Too soon for Christmas-bringing winter's cheer;

Ignoble interregnum following

The golden cycle of a good queen's reign,

Before her heir, proclaimed already king,

Has come of age to rule in her domain;

We do not praise you; many a dreary day

Impatiently we chide your laggard pace;

Backward we look, and forward, and we say:

The queen was kind and fair of form and face;

The king is stern, but clad in brave array:

God save His Majesty and send him grace.