November is that historied Emperor,
Conquered in age, but foot to foot with fate,
Who from his refuge high has heard the roar
Of squadrons in pursuit, and now, too late,
Stirrups the storm and calls the winds to war,
And arms the garrison of his last heirloom,
And shakes the sky to its extremest shore
With battle against irrevocable doom.
Till, driven and hurled from his strong citadels,
He flies in hurrying cloud and spurs him on,
Empty of lingerings, empty of farewells
And final benedictions, and is gone.
But in my garden all the trees have shed
Their legacies of the light, and all the flowers are dead.
(Hilaire Belloc)
More Poetry from Hilaire Belloc:
Hilaire Belloc Poems based on Topics: Light, Age, Nature, War & Peace, Flowers, Fate & Destiny- Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine (Hilaire Belloc Poems)
- Lines to a Don (Hilaire Belloc Poems)
- The South Country (Hilaire Belloc Poems)
- Jim (Hilaire Belloc Poems)
- Matilda Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death (Hilaire Belloc Poems)
- To The Balliol Men Still In Africa (Hilaire Belloc Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Light Poems, Nature Poems, War & Peace Poems, Flowers Poems, Fate & Destiny Poems, Age PoemsBased on Keywords: benedictions, legacies, citadels, lingerings, historied