I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I am still recovering from a wonderful meal with family and plenty of shopping today. A quick poem for Poetry Friday is definitely in order, especially one for the season.
| The Harvest Moon | ||
| by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | ||
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their aerial neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window-panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests! Gone are the birds that were our summer guests, With the last sheaves return the laboring wains! All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind, As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves; The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And pipings of the quail among the sheaves. |
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Filed under: poetry Tagged: | harvest moon, Poetry Friday
“the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind”
So true, Mr. Longfellow!
Wonderfull words!! I can see the image of all of these! Liked to much of this poetry! Congrats…from Brazil!
Rafael