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Famous Short November Poems

Famous Short November Poems. Short November Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best November short poems

Other Short Poem Pages

More great short poems below.

November | Short Famous Poems and Poets

by Mother Goose

Thirty Days Hath September

Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
February has twenty-eight alone,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting leap-year, that's the time
When February's days are twenty-nine.

by Emily Dickinson

How happy I was if I could forget

 How happy I was if I could forget
To remember how sad I am
Would be an easy adversity
But the recollecting of Bloom

Keeps making November difficult
Till I who was almost bold
Lose my way like a little Child
And perish of the cold.

by Emily Dickinson

The Day grew small surrounded tight

 The Day grew small, surrounded tight
By early, stooping Night --
The Afternoon in Evening deep
Its Yellow shortness dropt --
The Winds went out their martial ways
The Leaves obtained excuse --
November hung his Granite Hat
Upon a nail of Plush --

by Dorothy Parker

Autumn Valentine

 In May my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.
And when it came November, I sought my heart, and sighed, "Poor thing, do you remember?" "What heart was that?" it cried.

by Thomas Hood


 No sun - no moon! 
No morn - no noon - 
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member - No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! - November!

by Gwendolyn Brooks

The Crazy Woman

 I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November And sing a song of gray.
I'll wait until November That is the time for me.
I'll go out in the frosty dark And sing most terribly.
And all the little people Will stare at me and say, "That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

Light Hearted William

 Light hearted William twirled 
his November moustaches 
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather.
Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily leaning out to see up and down the street where a heavy sunlight lay beyond some blue shadows.
Into the room he drew his head again and laughed to himself quietly twirling his green moustaches.

by Victor Hugo


 ("Pendant que dans l'auberge.") 
 {Bk. IV. xiii., Jersey, November, 1852.} 

 While in the jolly tavern, the bandits gayly drink, 
 Upon the haunted highway, sharp hoof-beats loudly clink? 
 Yea; past scant-buried victims, hard-spurring sturdy steed, 
 A mute and grisly rider is trampling grass and weed, 
 And by the black-sealed warrant which in his grasp shines clear, 
 I known it is the Future—God's Justicer is here!