November
by Thomas Hood
No sun–no moon!
No morn–no noon!
No dawn–no dusk–no proper time of day–
No sky–no earthly view–
No distance looking blue–
No road–no street–
No “t’other side the way”–
No end to any Row–
No indications where the Crescents go–
No top to any steeple–
No recognitions of familiar people–
No courtesies for showing ’em–
No knowing ’em!
No mail–no post–
No news from any foreign coast–
No park–no ring–no afternoon gentility–
No company–no nobility–
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member–
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!
Photo by Linda. View of Loire river, November, 2002.
You're History! 
Interesting poem, kinda captures the drudgery of winter in a way!
I heard this poem on an episode of Rumpold of the Baily on PBS. This is also my favorite poem.
What does “No indications where the Crescents go” mean?
Beautiful and sad…such great images!
That’s a lot of “Nos”!