Poems (Elliott)/Thanksgiving
For works with similar titles, see Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving
(1916)
The scarlet of sumach and creeper and vine,
The scent of the grape, distilled into wine,
The warm, aromatic, sweet odor of pine,
Have fled with October.
The woods are all yellow and russet and brown,
The leaves, one by one, float silently down,
Chill winds are astir and the gray heavens frown,
All Nature grows sober.
The scent of the grape, distilled into wine,
The warm, aromatic, sweet odor of pine,
Have fled with October.
The woods are all yellow and russet and brown,
The leaves, one by one, float silently down,
Chill winds are astir and the gray heavens frown,
All Nature grows sober.
Then silently, lightly, the first flakes of snow
Fall thick on the frozen clods below,
And hoarse the cries of the wheeling crow—
Portent of November.
Still bleaker the winds to a roaring blast—
Come, hasten to make door and window fast.
Let more and more wood on the fire be cast—
Cherish each glowing ember.
Fall thick on the frozen clods below,
And hoarse the cries of the wheeling crow—
Portent of November.
Still bleaker the winds to a roaring blast—
Come, hasten to make door and window fast.
Let more and more wood on the fire be cast—
Cherish each glowing ember.
***
Morning breaks, all golden yellow
Autumn sunshine, warm and mellow,
Indian summer of the year.
Youthful hearts beat high with gladness,
Older hearts forget their sadness,
For again Thanksgiving's here.
Autumn sunshine, warm and mellow,
Indian summer of the year.
Youthful hearts beat high with gladness,
Older hearts forget their sadness,
For again Thanksgiving's here.
We give thanks for those who love us,
For the brooding God above us,
And for all His watchful care.
For our harvest fields unspoiled,
And our whole broad land unsoilèd
By the blood of martyrs there.
For the brooding God above us,
And for all His watchful care.
For our harvest fields unspoiled,
And our whole broad land unsoilèd
By the blood of martyrs there.