Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE CORN-HUSKING, by EFFIE WALLER SMITH Poet's Biography First Line: Twas a week before thanksgiving Last Line: While the merry time away. Subject(s): Corn; Harvest; Holidays; November; Thanksgiving | ||||||||
'Twas a week before Thanksgiving, The days were very brief; The woods were almost naked, Save here and there a leaf Of somber hue was clinging still To a tiny, pliant bough, Which mild October's gentle winds Had failed it off to blow. No flowers shed their fragrance On the smoky atmosphere, For the frost had nipped their beauty, And left them dead and sere. And no little feathered songsters Warbled forth their happy lay, For with the first light snow-fall, To the South they flew away. But on that day of memory Of Indian Summer weather, Within the wide, old shed we sat, My love and I together, With others, husking out the pile Of Indian corn so bright And yellow. How we worked that day, From early morn 'till night. Some talked awhile about the corn, Talked of its size and weight; How the drought had injured the early, And the rain had ruined the late. Some talked of preachers, and also How few preached in Jesus' name, Tho' many preached for money, And many preached for fame. Some disputed over politics; Some talked of education; Of men and women teachers From high and lowly station; Some were too vain and noisy, And some too shy and grave, Some's manners were too shrinking, And some were far too brave. But mostly all, both young and old, Talked of the war with Spain; Of how our gallant soldier boys Had avenged the sunken Maine. And how Dewey, gallant Dewey! Had at break of day in May Surprised the Dons, and routed Them from Manila Bay. And how Lieutenant Hobson Performed his daring feat When he sank the Merrimac, And stayed Cervera's fleet. And how, at Santiago hill, The Spanish boys did hustle When our boys cut the barbed wire fence, And captured Morro Castle. Well, of course we had a dinner, And a sumptuous one at that; Such as god or epicure Would fain have feasted at: Although it wasn't cooked or fixed, In any new-fangled way, But cooked by good old-fashioned cooks In the good old-fashioned way. But why need I talk so long and much Of such a common thing As a corn-husking which, each Autumn, Just thousands of them bring. Where the huskers all with friendly chat, With stories grave and gay, With frolic, riddle and with song While the merry time away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CULTURE OF GLASS by THYLIAS MOSS THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING by NORMAN DUBIE OUR PRAYER OF THANKS by CARL SANDBURG THANKSGIVING DAY by LYDIA MARIA CHILD XAIPE: 65 by EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS THE OL' TUNES by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A THANKSGIVING TO GOD [FOR HIS HOUSE] by ROBERT HERRICK A GOOD-BYE by EFFIE WALLER SMITH |
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