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.