A night in November

I marked when the weather changed,

And the planes began to quake,

And the winds rose up and ranged,

that night, lying half-awake.

Dead leaves blew into my room,

And alighted upon my bed,

And a tree declared to the gloom

Its sorrow that they were shed.

One leaf of them touched my hand,

And I thought that it was you

There stood as you used to stand

And saying at last you knew.