The speaker looks up at a November sky that many might dismiss as dull and gray, and finds it lovelier than any other. The pleasure lies in small, shifting details: faint colours stealing into the clouds, a patch of pale blue appearing where the gray breaks, and huge slow-moving clouds that seem to hold back their rain. Even when no obvious colour remains, the gray itself has silver heights and darker depths, touched at last by faint purple from the unvanquished sun. The speaker’s feeling is quiet admiration—not loud excitement, but patient attention to what is easy to overlook. The mood is calm, still, and gently luminous, as if the poem is learning to see richness in restraint.
November Skies — Summary
Than these November skies Is no sky lovelier. The clouds are deep; Into their gray the subtle spies Of colour creep, Changing that high austerity to delight, Till even the leaden interfolds are bright. And, where the cloud breaks, faint far azure peers Ere a thin flushing cloud again Shuts up that loveliness, or shares. The huge great clouds move slowly, gently, as Reluctant the quick sun should shine in vain, Holding in bright caprice their rain. And when of colours none, Not rose, nor amber, nor the scarce late green, Is truly seen,-- In all the myriad gray, In silver height and dusky deep, remain The loveliest, Faint purple flushes of the unvanquished sun.