In November, the frost wakes us up in the morning, and we can smell the winter on its way. Yet, autumn is still there in the ground. The leaves, red and gold, lay covered in what will soon be snow. November may be a strange moth of transition, but many authors have tried to capture its wonder. With that said, Sara Teasdale’s poem, “November” perfectly encapsulates the month and captures the spirit rightly. This “November” by Sara Teasdale analysis discusses Novembers cold and kindness.