November, A Poem By Helen Hunt Jackson

Image Credit: mypoeticside.com

Helen Hunt Jackson was born in Amherst, Massachussetts, in 1830. She published five collections of poetry during her lifetime and was inducted into the Colorado Women’s Hall of Fame in 1985. She died in 1885.

This poem was originally published in Jackson’s A Calendar of Sonnets (Roberts Brothers Publishers, 1891).

November

By Helen Hunt Jackson

This is the treacherous month when autumn days

With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts.

Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts

Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze

Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,

And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,

The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts

Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning’s rays

Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,

Too late to bid the violet live again.

The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;

Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.

What joy sufficient hath November felt?

What profit from the violet’s day of pain?

* This poem by Helen Hunt Jackson is found in public domain.