No sky lovelier

November Skies

Than these November skies 

Is no sky lovelier. The clouds are deep; 

Into their grey the subtle spies 

Of colour creep, 

Changing that high austerity to delight, 

Till ev'n the leaden interfolds are bright. 

And, where the cloud breaks, faint far azure peers 

Ere a thin flushing cloud again 

Shuts up that loveliness, or shares. 

The huge great clouds move slowly, gently, as 

Reluctant the quick sun should shine in vain, 

Holding in bright caprice their rain. 

And when of colours none, 

Not rose, nor amber, nor the scarce late green, 

Is truly seen, -- 

In all the myriad grey, 

In silver height and dusky deep, remain 

The loveliest, 

Faint purple flushes of the unvanquished sun. 

John Freeman