Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay — Stay till the good old year, So long companion of our way, Shakes hands, and leaves us here.

Mirth, full of joy as summer bees, Sits there, its pleasures to impart, And children, ‘tween their parent’s knees, Sing scraps of carols o’er by heart.

All is black shadow, but the lucid line Marked by the light surf on the level sand, Or where afar, the ship-lights faintly shine Like wandering fairy fires.

But it is winter with your love; I scatter crumbs upon the sill, And close the window, — and the birds May take or leave them, as they will.

But it is winter with your love; I scatter crumbs upon the sill, And close the window, — and the birds May take or leave them, as they will.

A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had! Worth three cents more to give away than sell . . . Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter. I can’t help wishing I could send you one.

With incense sweet our thanks ascend; Before thy works our powers pall; Though we should strive years without end, We could not thank thee for them all.

My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn I must return to the trapped fields, To the obedient earth. The trees shall be reaching all the winter.

I’ve been wondering about what you mean, Standing in the spray of shadows before an ocean Abandoned for winter, silent as a barque of blond hair.

So dull and dark are the November days. The lazy mist high up the evening curled, And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze; The place we occupy seems all the world.

On the last of October When dusk is fallen Children join hands And circle round me Singing ghost songs And love to the harvest moon.

I stood in the disenchanted field Amid the stubble and the stones, Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me The song of my marrow-bones.

The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on.

Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.

The promises have gone, Gone, gone, and they were here just now There is the sky where they laid their fish. Soon it will be evening.

Cape Cod kids ain’t got no sleds They slide down the hills on codfish heads Cape Cod girls ain’t got no frills They tie their hair with codfish gills.

Although it is a cold evening, Down by one of the fishhouses An old man sits netting, His net, In the gloaming almost invisible.

A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip — There is a glorious fellowship! Father and son and the open sky And the white clouds lazily drifting by.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.

The wind blows Through the doors of my heart. It scatters my sheet music That climbs like waves from the piano, free of the keys.