The Gray Days of November – A Poem by Annie Johnson Flint

 

The Gray Days of November

The gray days of November
No plaint from me shall win;
I shut the fog and mist all out,
And shut the fire-shine in;
I draw my chair the closer
To where its warm glow cheers,
And, dreaming in the firelight,
Dream back across the years.

No happier days, no better,
My lost youth gave to me,
With flowers in every meadow
And songs from every tree;
That was the time of growing;
This is the time of rest;
Bloom falls, but fruiting follows,
And each in turn is best…

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