November

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The classic poem for this issue of The Fairfield Review was written by Walter de la Mare (1873 - 1958). As the season turns from the glory of autumn to the barest of days we are reminded of the absences that haunt us. --egh

November
By Walter de la Mare

There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.

Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.

Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.