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Pumpkin Poems

Table of Contents

  1. The Pumpkins in the Corn by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  2. Jack-O'-Lantern by John B. Tabb
  3. The Pumpkin by John Greenleaf Whittier
  4. When the Frost is on the Punkin by James Whitcomb Riley
  5. The Hustling Pumpkin Vine by Uncle Mose

  1. The Pumpkins in the Corn

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Amber and blue, the smoke behind the hill,
    Where in the glow fades out the morning star,
    Curtains the autumn cornfield, sloped afar,
    And strikes an acrid savour on the chill.
    The hilltop fence shines saffron o'er the still
    Unbending ranks of bunched and bleaching corn,
    And every pallid stalk is crisp with morn,
    Crisp with the silver autumn morns distil.

    Purple the narrowing alleys stretched between
    The spectral shocks, a purple harsh and cold,
    But spotted, where the gadding pumpkins run,
    With bursts of blaze that startle the serene
    Like sudden voices,—globes of orange bold,
    Elate to mimic the unrisen sun.

  2. The Pumpkin

    The Pumpkin Patch
    by Winslow Homer
    by John Greenleaf Whittier

    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 o'er Nineveh'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 Xenil 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 travelled 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,
    Brighter 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 sunset sky
    Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie!

  3. When the Frost is on the Punkin

    by James Whitcomb Riley

    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
    And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
    And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
    And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
    O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
    With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
    As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

    They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
    When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
    Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
    And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
    But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
    Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
    Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

    The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
    And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
    The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
    A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
    The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
    The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
    O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

    Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
    Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
    And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
    With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...
    I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
    As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
    I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

  4. The Hustling Pumpkin Vine

    by Uncle Mose

    Say boy, don't go a mopin' 'round 'n' talkin' in a whine,
    But go out in the field and view the hustling pumpkin vine.
    It has the kind o' stuff in it that's needed, boy, in you,
    A kind o' get there quality thet most folks say will do.

    The weeds may grow around it but the pumpkin vine don't stop,
    It shows it's there fer business an' it climbs right out on top.
    An' if it strikes a big stone fence or ditch that may be wide,
    It jes' lines out 'n strings the pumpkins on the other side.

    So boy, don't let the weeds or ditches drive you from your way,
    But go ahead and get on top—do something every day.
    An' if things look discouraging, don't ever mope or whine,
    But go and learn a lesson from the hustling pumpkin vine.

  5. Jack-O'-Lantern

    by John B. Tabb

    "JACK-O'-LANTERN, Jack-o'-Lantern,
    Tell me where you hide by day?"
    "In the cradle where the vapours
    Dream the sunlit hours away."

    "Jack-o'-Lantern, Jack-o'-Lantern,
    Who rekindles you at night?"
    "Any firefly in the meadow
    Lends a Jack-o'-Lantern light."