Nearly every line here is built from absence. The night has no moon, no stars, no dreams. What remains is small and bare: sleet falling on dead leaves, wind that sounds like chimes, and woods that the poem calls "black blank." The repeated "-less" words (moonless, starless, dreamless) work like a countdown, taking away one source of light or comfort after another.
The last line is the surprise. After all that emptiness, we get "sleep of a child," and it changes the feel of everything before it. The dark could be read as bleak and lifeless, but a child's sleep suggests rest and calm. The speaker doesn't say how they feel, so the poem leaves it to us. To me it reads as quiet and cold, but also strangely peaceful, as if November's emptiness were a kind of deep, untroubled stillness. The odd spacing and the slash in "wind/chimes" make the poem feel like it's flickering between sounds and silence.