Calendar of Sonnets, A

<SPAN name="November"></SPAN> <h2><SPAN href="images/head-nov.png"><ANTIMG width-obs="40%" src="images/head-nov.png" alt="November" /></SPAN></h2> <p>This is the treacherous month when autumn days<br/> With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.<br/> Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts<br/> Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze<br/> Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,<br/> And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,<br/> The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts<br/> Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays<br/> Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,<br/> Too late to bid the violet live again.<br/> The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;<br/> Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.<br/> What joy sufficient hath November felt?<br/> What profit from the violet's day of pain?</p> <p align="center" style="margin: 0%"><SPAN href="images/vign-11.png"><ANTIMG width-obs="40%" src="images/vign-11.png" alt="Vignette 11" /></SPAN></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />