Explore "November" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Besides the autumn poets sing, / A few prosaic days / A little this side of the snow / And that side of the haze.
A few incisive mornings, / A few ascetic eyes, -- / Gone Mr. Bryant's golden-rod, / And Mr. Thomson's sheaves.
Still is the bustle in the brook, / Sealed are the spicy valves; / Mesmeric fingers softly touch / The eyes of many elves.
Perhaps a squirrel may remain, / My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind, / Thy windy will to bear!