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J.D. Sutter reads "The Pumpkin" by John Greenleaf Whittier. Poem text: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53105/the-pumpkin Music credit: "Winter" Written by Alexander Nakarada. Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/users/daria-yakovleva-3938704/
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J.D. Sutter reads "The Pumpkin" by John Greenleaf Whittier. Poem text: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53105/the-pumpkin Music credit: "Winter" Written by Alexander Nakarada. Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/users/daria-yakovleva-3938704/
Listen to The Pumpkin by John Greenleaf Whittier by J.D. Sutter MP3 song. The Pumpkin by John Greenleaf Whittier song from J.D. Sutter is available on Audio.com. The duration of song is 04:00. This high-quality MP3 track has 2822.4 kbps bitrate and was uploaded on 24 Nov 2022. Stream and download The Pumpkin by John Greenleaf Whittier by J.D. Sutter for free on Audio.com – your ultimate destination for MP3 music.
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Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold. Like that which Orneneva's prophet once grew, While he waited to know that his warning was true, And longed for the storm-cloud and listened in vain For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. On the banks of the Zinal the dark Spanish maiden Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden, And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold Through orange leaves shining the broad spheres of gold. Yet with dearer delight from his home in the north On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, And the sun of September melts down on his vines. Ah, on Thanksgiving Day, when from east and from west, From north and from south, come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board The old broken links of affection restored, When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before. What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past like the rich pumpkin pie? Oh, fruit-loved of boyhood, the old days recalling, When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling, When wild ugly faces we carved in its skin, Glaring out through the dark with a candle within. When we laughed round the corn-heap with hearts all in tune, Our chair a broad pumpkin, our lantern the moon, Telling tales of the fairy who traveled like steam In a pumpkin-shell coach with two rats for her team. Then thanks for thy present, none sweeter or better, E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter. Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, Better eyes never watched o'er its baking than thine. And the prayer which my mouth is too full to express Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, And thy life be as sweet and its last sun-set sky, Contented and fair as thy own pumpkin pie. Love you, Mom.
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