Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MUSIC OF NOVEMBER, by J. L. HARPER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MUSIC OF NOVEMBER, by                    
First Line: On a brisk november morning
Last Line: Nor the righteous want for bread.
Subject(s): November


On a brisk November morning
As sun peeps over the hills,
The wagons rattle to the fields
Nor stop for morning's chills.
With mittens and with hooks in place,
Their jackets off for speed,
They wrap the lines up on the dash,
Now, who will take the lead?
"You go ahead," says Bill to Joe,
"And when your load is on,
You'll find me sticking close behind,
And I'll be coming strong."

Talk about your lively music,
There is nothing to compare
With the music on the throwboard
When the frost is in the air.
Joe is yanking out the nubins
At a hundred-bushel rate;
Bill can do it, too, I venture,
For he's up to Joe's endgate.

But the music loses volume;
Seems to change to softer notes
And a song of peace and plenty
Over the rustling cornfield floats.
Like a song of pigs and cattle
In the farmyard on the hill;
Like a song of sweet contentment
When old winter's blasts are chill.

Yet another change I notice
In the music from the board
As the corn fills up the wagon
With its precious golden hoard;
Now the music seems to fade away
And blend into the sheen
Of the haze of Indian Summer
Like a blissful, happy dream;
Seems to melt and merge with beauty
Of the Indian Summer haze,
And to lose itself in splendor
Of these bright November days.

Thus this music of November,
Laden with Thanksgiving prayer,
Like the wagons with their treasure
to the cribs, their burdens bear;
So this music, with its treasure
From the fields of golden corn
Wafted upward in thanksgiving
On this brisk November morn,
In a song of sweet thanksgiving
Unto Him, for He hath said
That His children shall not hunger,
Nor the righteous want for bread.





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