When the Year Grows Old
by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)
I cannot but remember
When the year grows old --
October-- November--
How she disliked the cold!
She used to watch the swallows
God down across the sky,
And turn from the window
With a sharp little sigh.
And often when the brown leaves
Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound,
She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget --
That look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net!
Oh, beautiful at nightfall
The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
Rubbing to and for!
But the roaring of the fire,
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!
I cannot but remember
When the year grows old --
October-- November--
How she disliked the cold!
from Edna St. Vincent Millay's Poems Selected for Young People, with woodcuts by Ronald Keller. Since that one, published in 1979, is now out of print, I'd recommend this one, from the wonderful "Poetry for Young People" series.
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I don't dislike the cold (I'd be miserable in this part of the world if I did), but October has come in like a lion, and I can't say I'm ready yet for temperatures around freezing during the day, all day, and the first frosted flakes. This morning our world was white, and while the kids are so delighted that I had to call a snow day, I'd prefer warmer, more colorful, more traditional autumn weather. At least until November. Please?
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