November's sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear.
Look back, and smile on perils past.
Mankind — the race would perish did they cease to aid each other.
It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back and aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these cold sinkings of the heart.
The sickening pang of hope deferr'd.
The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.