The Harvester was the rustling of autumn leaves, there one minute, gone the next.
No sun__o moon! No morn__o noon__o dawn_ No sky__o earthly view_ No distance looking blue__o road__o street__o "t'other side the way"_ No end to any Row_ No indications where the Crescents go_ No top to any steeple__o recognitions of familiar people_ No courtesies for showing 'em_ No knowing 'em!No traveling at all__o locomotion,No inkling of the way__o notion_ "No go"__y land or ocean_ No mail__o post_ No news from any foreign coast__o park__o ring__o afternoon gentility_ No company__o nobility__o warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member__o shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!
Quote Detail
No sun__o moon! No morn__o noon__o dawn_ No sky__o earthly view_ No distance looking blue__o road__o street__o "t'other side the way"_ No end to any Row_ No indications where the Crescents go_ No top to any steeple__o recognitions of familiar people_ No courtesies for showing 'em_ No knowing 'em!No traveling at all__o locomotion,No inkling of the way__o notion_ "No go"__y land or ocean_ No mail__o post_ No news from any foreign coast__o park__o ring__o afternoon gentility_ No company__o nobility__o warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member__o shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!
Quick Answer
What this quote page tells you
This canonical quote page keeps the full saying, the attributed author, any linked work, and the topic tags together so the quote can be cited from one stable URL.
Related Quotes
More quote cards from the same area
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
Love is an exorcism of angels.
There was an ocean above us, held in by a thin sac that might rupture and let down a flood at any second.
Sing a song of suspense in which the players die.Four and twenty ravens in an Edgar Allan Pie.When the pie was broken, the ravens couldn't sing.Their throats had been sliced open by Stephen, the new King.The King was in his writing house, stifling a laughWhile his queen was in a tizzy of her bloody Lovecraft.When the dead maid got the garden for her rank as royal whore,King's shovel made it double and he married nevermore.
If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.