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Emily Dickinson
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One Day is there of the Series
Termed Thanksgiving Day.
Celebrated part at Table
Part in Memory.

Neither Patriarch nor Pussy
I dissect the Play
Seems it to my Hooded thinking
Reflex Holiday.

Had there been no sharp Subtraction
From the early Sum —
Not an Acre or a Caption
Where was once a Room —

Not a Mention, whose small Pebble
Wrinkled any Sea,
Unto Such, were such Assembly
’Twere Thanksgiving Day.
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Next page > “The pure contralto sings in the organ loft” from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman...
Thanksgiving Poems collection > table of contents

Back to the index > Poems by Emily Dickinson
Profile of the author > American icon/“Belle of Amherst” Emily Dickinson
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From Bob Holman & Margery Snyder,
Your Guide to Poetry.
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