A Thanksgiving

HIGH on the ledge the wind blows the bayberry bright,
Turning the leaves till they shudder and shine in the light;
Yellow St. John’s-wort and yarrow are nodding their heads ;
Iris and wild rose are glowing in purples and reds.

Swift flies the schooner careering beyond o’er the blue ;
Faint shows the furrow she leaves as she cleaves lightly through ;
Gay gleams the fluttering flag at her delicate mast,
Full swell the sails with the wind that is following fast.

Quail and sandpiper and swallow and sparrow are here ;
Sweet sound their manifold notes, high and low, far and near ;
Chorus of musical waters, the rush of the breeze,
Steady and strong from the south,−what glad voices are these!

O cup of the wild rose, curved close to hold odorous dew,
What thought do you hide in your heart ? I would that I knew !
O beautiful Iris, unfurling your purple and gold,
What victory fling you abroad in the flags you unfold ?

Sweet may your thought be, red rose, but still sweeter is mine,
Close in my heart hidden, clear as your dewdrop divine :
Flutter your gonfalons, Iris, the pæan I sing
Is for victory better than joy or than beauty can bring !

Into thy calm eyes, O Nature, I look and rejoice ;
Prayerful, I add my one note to the Infinite voice,
As shining and singing and sparkling glides on the glad day,
And eastward the swift-rolling planet wheels into the gray.