O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!
There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!