The world is tired, the year is old,
The little leaves are glad to die,
The wind goes shivering with cold
Among the rushes dry.
Our love is dying like the grass,
And we who kissed grow coldly kind,
Half glad to see our poor love pass
Like leaves along the wind.
November
Sara Teasdale
(1)
Poem topics: poor, world, grass, cold, year, tired, wind, glad, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about November poem by Sara Teasdale
Best Poems of Sara Teasdale