Poetry Archives

Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft
            Of her supernal charm;
And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left,
            Like crape upon her arm,
      In boreal hints, and sudden gusts
            That fan the glowing ember,
      By multitude of ways fulfills
            The promise of November.

Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away,
            Lies the rich afterglow
Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday
            That antedates the snow:
      The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer,
            The festival commotion
      That stirs fraternal feeling from
            The mountains to the ocean.

O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand
            In generous dealing, where
Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band,
            And let no vacant chair
      Show where the strongest, brightest link
            In love’s dear chain is broken—
      A symbol more pathetic than
            By language ever spoken.

Into the place held sacred to the memory of some
            Beloved absentee,
Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come
            And in gratuity
      Partake of festal favors that
            Shall sweeten hours of labor,
      And strengthen amity and love
            Unto his friend and neighbor.

Let gratitude’s pure incense in warm orisons ascend,
            A blessing to secure,
And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend
            To all deserving poor;
      So may the day be hallowed by
            Unstinted thanks and giving,
      In sweet remembrance of the dead
            And kindness to the living.