Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together, With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather, Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow, Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow.

Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps showing Lucent sunset lakes of crocus and green are glowing; 'Tis the hour to walk at will in a wayward, unfettered roaming, Caring for naught save the charm, elusive and swift, of the gloaming.

Watchful and stirless the fields as if not unkindly holding Harvested joys in their clasp, and to their broad bosoms folding Baby hopes of a Spring, trusted to motherly keeping, Thus to be cherished and happed through the long months of their sleeping.

Silent the woods are and gray; but the firs than ever are greener, Nipped by the frost till the tang of their loosened balsam is keener; And one little wind in their boughs, eerily swaying and swinging, Very soft and low, like a wandering minstrel is singing.

Beautiful is the year, but not as the springlike maiden Garlanded with her hopes­rather the woman laden With wealth of joy and grief, worthily won through living, Wearing her sorrow now like a garment of praise and thanksgiving.

Gently the dark comes down over the wild, fair places, The whispering glens in the hills, the open, starry spaces; Rich with the gifts of the night, sated with questing and dreaming, We turn to the dearest of paths where the star of the homelight is gleaming.

“November Evening” by Lucy Maud Montgomery

“November” from “The Seasons” by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Performed by the Detroit Symphony and conducted by Neeme Jarvi. Orchestration by Alexander Gauk.

Photo Credit: Arnett

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This same music that brings so much peace to me, did not seem to bring peace to the author. Two quotes that help me to understand the struggles of Tchaikovsky as a person and the genius of his music are:

“It is already a great thing if the main ideas and general outline of a work come without any racking of brains, as the result of that supernatural and inexplicable force we call inspiration.”
– Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

“…You see, my dear friend, I am made up of contradictions, and I have reached a very mature age without resting upon anything positive, without having calmed my restless spirit either by religion or philosophy. Undoubtedly I should have gone mad but for music. Music is indeed the most beautiful of all Heaven’s gifts to humanity wandering in the darkness. Alone it calms, enlightens, and stills our souls. It is not the straw to which the drowning man clings; but a true friend, refuge, and comforter, for whose sake life is worth living”
― Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky


“Come ye apart and rest awhile” in the beauty of this post. Well done Spectrum. Rene Gale


A beautiful poem by this prolific Canadian author of the first half of the 20th century who is best known for her Anne of Green Gables novels…The music was the perfect choice for her poem as you read it…


As a music lover, I think of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” finale in his last (?) symphony when he was totally deaf. Music filled his soul when it was soundless.

Just as Milton’s masterpiece “Paradise Lost” was written in his blindness. What inspirations for those of us who feel we have some disabilities. Those feelings came from their souls which cannot be killed by infirmities.


Artists run the risk of staleness unable to take in new flowers the autumn leaves are flowers on the trees of November. Pyotr llyich Tchaikovsky fixated on getting better, miss he already was – danger the origin of him – falling woefully into the emotional invalid. But, Tchaikovsky did what comes naturally and easily - drowning in bottomless lake neutering darkness into music of lights and hopes. Tchaikovsky dominance orchestral works Tchaikovsky’s phenomenon - darkness is light in his world.