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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420493" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>For An Autumn festival</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine<br>Of fruitful Ceres, charm no more;<br>The woven wreaths of oak and pine<br>Are dust along the Isthmian shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But beauty hath its homage still,<br>And nature holds us still in debt;<br>And woman's grace and household skill,<br>And manhood's toil, are honored yet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And we, to-day, amidst our flowers<br>And fruits, have come to own again<br>The blessings of the summer hours,<br>The early and the latter rain;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To see our Father's hand once more<br>Reverse for us the plenteous horn<br>Of autumn, filled and running o'er<br>With fruit, and flower, and golden corn!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once more the liberal year laughs out<br>O'er richer stores than gems or gold;<br>Once more with harvest-song and shout<br>Is Nature's bloodless triumph told.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our common mother rests and sings,<br>Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves;<br>Her lap is full of goodly things,<br>Her brow is bright with autumn leaves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, favors every year made new!<br>Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent<br>The bounty overruns our due,<br>The fulness shames our discontent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on;<br>We murmur, but the corn-ears fill,<br>We choose the shadow, but the sun<br>That casts it shines behind us still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God gives us with our rugged soil<br>The power to make it Eden-fair,<br>And richer fruits to crown our toil<br>Than summer-wedded islands bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who murmurs at his lot to-day?<br>Who scorns his native fruit and bloom?<br>Or sighs for dainties far away,<br>Beside the bounteous board of home?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm<br>Can change a rocky soil to gold,--<br>That brave and generous lives can warm<br>A clime with northern ices cold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And let these altars, wreathed with flowers<br>And piled with fruits, awake again<br>Thanksgivings for the golden hours,<br>The early and the latter rain!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420493" data-title="For An Autumn festival de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine
Of fruitful Ceres, charm no more;
The woven wreaths of oak and pine
Are dust along the Isthmian shore.

But beauty hath its homage still,
And nature holds us still in debt;
And woman's grace and household sk..."></div>
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