For November

You taste of dying dreams, my love,
You're furious and frail,
But fearful, so it seems, my love
Of Winter on your tail.
You have no smell but cold, my sweet,
And ever do you frown,
You hold no flames of gold, my sweet,
But only ashes brown.
I shiver at your touch, my dear,
But still I'd rather stay
Within your frozen clutch, my dear,
Than sleep alone today.
No claim have you, my darling,
To autumn's golden worth,
No shame have you, my darling,
As you undress the earth.
And as you send the birds, dear love,
Away to gentler shores,
I tremble at my words, dear love,
But I am glad I'm yours.
I'm glad your wind exposes me,
I'll face the naked shame tonight,
'Til Winter's grace encloses me,
In shrouds of purest white.