Brat Farrar (bratfarrar) wrote,
Brat Farrar

poem: November

November is that historied Emperor,
Conquered in age, but foot to foot with fate,
Who from his refuge high has heard the roar
Of squadrons in pursuit, and now, too late,
Stirrups the storm and calls the winds to war,
And arms the garrison of his last heirloom,
And shakes the sky to its extremest shore
With battle against irrevocable doom.

Till, driven and hurled from his strong citadels,
He flies in hurrying cloud and spurs him on,
Empty of lingerings, empty of farewells
And final benedictions, and is gone.
But in my garden all the trees have shed
Their legacies of the light, and all the flowers are dead.

Hilare Belloc
Tags: poetry

  • website woes

    Fun: building a shiny new website from scratch Not fun: trying to overhaul a website you built 6 years ago, before you really knew anything about…

  • and another one bites the dust

    How to tell you really are too tired to drive over and help your sister out with getting her kids to bed: drop your laptop down the stairs,…

  • AUGH (or: frustrated SPN meta-ish thoughts)

    Why why why Why WHY do I keep allowing myself to be lured in by meta on Tumblr???? It never ever ends well, but I keep allowing it to happen. You…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.