Browsing Topic Best November Poems Quotes

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

What we’re really talking about is a wonderful day set aside on the fourth Thursday of November when no one diets. I mean, why else would they call it Thanksgiving?

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show.

T hanks for time to be together, turkey, talk, and tangy weather. H for harvest stored away, home, and hearth, and holiday. A for autumn’s frosty art, and abundance in the heart. N for neighbors, and November, nice things, new things to remember. K for kitchen, kettles’ croon, kith and kin expected soon. S for sizzles, sights, and sounds, and something special that about. That spells THANKS for joy in living and a jolly good Thanksgiving.

The wind that makes music in November corn is in a hurry. The stalks hum, the loose husks whisk skyward in half-playing swirls, and the wind hurries on…. A tree tries to argue, bare limbs waving, but there is no detaining the wind.

Lo! sweeten’d with the summer light,The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,Drops in a silent autumn night.All its allotted length of daysThe flower ripens in its place,Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.

The season for enjoying the fullness of life – partaking of the harvest, sharing the harvest with others, and reinvesting and saving portions of the harvest for yet another season of growth.

Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows, and all of summer’s stunning afternoons will be gone. I already hear the dead thuds of logs below falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.

Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze…, Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!

Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.

Give me the end of the year an’ its fun When most of the plannin’ an’ toilin’ is done; Bring all the wanderers home to the nest, Let me sit down with the ones I love best, Hear the old voices still ringin’ with song, See the old faces unblemished by wrong, See the old table with all of its chairs An’ I’ll put soul in my Thanksgivin’ prayers.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it.

Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.

November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.

The morns are meeker than they were,The nuts are getting brown;The berry’s cheek is plumper,The rose is out of town.The maple wears a gayer scarf,The field a scarlet gown.Lest I should be old-fashioned,I’ll put a trinket on.

Lest I should be old-fashioned,I’ll put a trinket on.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.