by Margaret Rose

Miranda reads aloud a poem by Margaret Rose that beautifully evokes the misty, cosy days of November.

Scroll down to read the extract and press play to listen to Miranda read it aloud.

Margaret Rose


November is a spinner
Spinning in the mist,
Weaving such a lovely web
Of gold and amethyst.
In among the shadows
She spins till close of day,
Then quietly she folds her hands
And puts her work away.

— Margaret Rose


At Day-Close in November

by Thomas Hardy

Donna reads aloud one her favourite poems for late autumn by Thomas Hardy.

Scroll down to read the poem and press play to listen to Donna read it aloud.

Thomas Hardy
At Day-Close in November

At Day-Close in November 

The ten hours' light is abating,
And a late bird wings across,
Where the pines, like waltzers waiting,
Give their black heads a toss.

Beech leaves, that yellow the noon-time,
Float past like specks in the eye;
I set every tree in my June time,
And now they obscure the sky.

And the children who ramble through here
Conceive that there never has been
A time when no tall trees grew here,
That none will in time be seen.

— Thomas Hardy