letra de november by john payne - richard mitchley
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the tale of wake is told; the stage is bare
the curtain falls upon the ended play;
november’s fogs arise, to hide away
the withered wrack of that which was so fair:
summer is gone to be with things that were
the sun is fallen from his ancient sway;
the night primaeval trenches on the day:
without, the winter waits upon the stair
stern herald of the wintry wrath to come
the mist-month treads upon october’s feet
muting the small birds’ songs, the insеcts’ hum
and all involving in its winding-sheet
‘graves on the frontal of the failing yеar
‘all hope abandon, ye who enter here!’
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