Yes, we all know that November is a dreich month. But ’twas ever so, if Thomas Hood is to be believed!

Londoner Hood (1799-1845) was an editor of literary magazines, a poet, and a friend of fellow creative figures such as Charles Lamb and William Hazlitt. Writing in an age before central heating, electric light, and the internet, his lamentations about the privations of November must put our everyday grumblings in perspective. 

               NOVEMBER

       No sun  – no moon!
       No morn – no noon – 
No dawn – 
       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 indication where the Crescents go – 
       No top to any steeple – 
No recognitions of familiar people – 
       No courtesies for showing ’em – 
       No knowing ’em! 
No travelling at all – no locomotion,
No inkling of the way – no notion – 
       ‘No go’ –  by land or ocean – 
       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!