by Henry Lee Fisher
When summer's various works were done,
And frost-seared woods looked dull and dead—
When fields in their autumnal green
Lay bathed in calm and hazy sheen,
And singing summer-birds had fled
November-days came, dull, and warm,
Mild heralds of the coming storm.
'Twas then the ruddy apple-heaps,
Beneath their conic caps of straw,
Were carefully enhedged around
With genteel coats of mellow ground,
Against the autumn's freeze and thaw,
And all surving cabbage-heads,
Inverted stood, in garden-beds.
And all the fruits and grains were housed
And ample cellars amply stored—
Yet, not with ashes, coal and wood,
But luscious viands—royal food—
To crown the farmers' ample board
With plenty, when the snows should come
And re-inspire the love of home.
And on the old-time garret, too,
With rugged oaken lumber floored—
Around the great stone chimney, there,
The gathered nuts, with jealous care,
All nicely hulled and snugly stored,
In various thrifty, careful, ways,
To cheer the coming holidays.