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— William C. Bryant"Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue."
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All in November's soaking mist We stand and prune the naked tree, While all our love and interest Seem quenched in the blue-nosed misery.
— Ruth Pitter
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This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun The day, though bough with bough be overrun. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation.
— Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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