November

Still the garden blossoms bravely,
Though the Year is nearly done,
Fresh chrysanthemums are shining
In the pale and wintry sun.
Such a number of bright colours
Make the beds and borders plain,
We believe the summer roses
Must have all come back again.
Now's the time when great plantations
Must be planted, oak and fir,
Beech and elm, and towering poplar
That the wandering night-winds stir.
And the time when treasured fruit-stones,
In the summer stored away,
Must be set, that spreading orchards
May grow up another day.