November, 2000 Monthly Feature : Each month I have been putting together some of my favourites to share with you. Archives
Mesto
[ The wild November comes at last Beneath a veil of rain; The night wind blows its folds aside, Her face is full of pain. |
Richard Henry Stoddard ]
A beautiful young woman with solemn eyes and pale cold hands. This is November. Slowly, with measured pace, she retreats from us, as a young novice to her convent. The icy breezes of her rustling skirts scatter the dead and dying leaves and her deep, dark eyes swallow up the failing rays of late autumn sun. She does not rail against the dying of the light, rather she lifts her chin and steps forward to embrace it.
As Mother Superior Winter steps forward to embrace her earthen child, she dresses her in snow-white bliss and comforts her with an icy kiss. Into this frigid embrace, November will sleep until her Lord Summer calls her forth again.
K.M.G.
|
Sonnet LXXIIIThat time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. William Shakespeare |
1In MP3 format. If you are unable to play this file, check out WINAMP. This is a very good MP3 player from Nullsoft, Inc. that you can download today.
