The melancholy days are come,
the saddest of the year
With wailing winds and naked woods,
and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove,
the autumn leaves lie dead,
They rustle to the eddying gust
and to the rabbit’s tread.
The robin and the wren are flown,
and from the shrubs the jay.
And from the wood top calls the crow,
through all the gloomy day.
From “Death of the Flowers” by William Cullen Bryant
It’s hard for me to agree with the poet, as I feel that November is not a sad month...