Burning Leaves

Burning Leaves, November  

THESE are the folios of April, 

All the library of spring, 

Missals gilt and rubricated 

With the frost's illumining.

Ruthless, we destroy these treasures, 

Set the torch with hand profane-- 

Gone, like Alexandrian vellums, 

Like the books of burnt Louvain!

Yet these classics are immortal: 

O collectors, have no fear, 

For the publisher will issue 

New editions every year. 

                                         Christopher Morley

November Night

LISTEN . . . 

With faint dry sound, 

Like steps of passing ghosts, 

The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees 

And fall. 

                                   Adelaide Crapsey