No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!

Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.

The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!

What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial.

I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.

And there is even a happiness That makes the heart afraid.

Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!