  November, 1837. Of all the months that compose the year, From January chill, to December drear, Commend us to November; For, sure as its period comes around, Good fellows are over the wine-cup found,— 'Twas so since we remember. Let April boast of its sunny showers, Let May exult in its gay young flowers, And June in its heat and its light; This, this is the month to surpass them all, While wine-cups circle in wood-lit hall, And wit flashes on through the night. What flowers can vie with the charms we view Around us then? Love's rosiest hue To woman's cheek is given. No shower is like the tear of the grape, In its rainbow Joy has his happiest shape, And each tint is direct from heaven. If mists veil the earth, and if storms arise, And darkness broods gloomily over the skies, And the gusty wind sullenly moans; Let them e'en do their worst:—we care not a pin, Though it's dreary without, we are merry within As we listen to music's gay tones. Then of all the months that compose the year, From January chill, to December drear, Commend us to November; For, sure as its period comes around, Good fellows are over the wine-cup found,— And 'twas so since we remember. |
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