lirik lagu richard mitchley - november by john keble
red o’er the forest peers the setting sun;
the line of yellow light dies fast away
that crown’d the eastern copse; and chill and dun
falls on the moor the brief november day
now the tired hunter winds a parting note
and echo bids good~night from every glade;
yet wait awhile and see the calm leaves float
each to his rest beneath their parent shade
how like decaying life they seem to glide
and yеt no second spring have they in storе;
and where they fall, forgotten to abide
is all their portion, and they ask no more
soon o’er their heads blithe april airs shall sing
a thousand wild~flowers round them shall unfold
the green buds glisten in the dews of spring
and all be vernal rapture as of old
unconscious they in waste oblivion lie
in all the world of busy life around
no thought of them—in all the bounteous sky
no drop, for them, of kindly influence found
man’s portion is to die and rise again:
yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part
with their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain
as his when eden held his virgin heart
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