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Robert Laurence Binyon (Роберт Лоренс Биньон)


November


Together we laughed and talked in the warm--lit room:
Out now, alone I come
Into the street, in the fall of the early night.
Shadowy skies, with a pale uncertain gloom,
Hover above the houses dim; but bright
In wetness mirrored far,
Retreating lamps outshine the lingering light.
Hazily blue the air, heavy with dews
The wind; and before me the cries and the crowd,
And the sleepless murmur of wheels; not loud,
For a magical softness all imbrues.
The softness estranges my sense: I see and I hear,
But know 'tis a vision intangible, shapes that seem.
All is unreal; the sound of the falling of feet,
Coming figures, and far--off hum of the street;
A dream, the gliding hurry, the endless lights,
Houses and sky, a dream, a dream! 



Robert Laurence Binyon's other poems:
  1. The Fourth of August
  2. No More Now with Jealous Complaining
  3. The Zeppelin
  4. A Child in Nature, as a Child in Years
  5. Hunger


Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • John Clare (Джон Клэр) November ("The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon")
  • Hartley Coleridge (Хартли Кольридж) November ("THE mellow year is hasting to its close")
  • William Bryant (Уильям Брайант) November ("Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!")
  • John Payne (Джон Пейн) November ("THE tale of wake is told; the stage is bare")
  • Frederick Tuckerman (Фредерик Такерман) November ("Oh! who is there of us that has not felt")

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