At Day-Close In November Stefania de Kenessey

The ten hours’ light is abating
And a late bird wings across
Where the pines, like waltzers waiting
Give their black heads a toss

Beech leaves, that yellow the noontime
Float past like specks in the eye;
I set every tree in my June time
And now they obscure the sky

And the children who ramble through here
Conceive that there never has been
A time when no tall trees grew here
That none will in time be seen