The Pumpkin Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDD AABBEEFF GGHHIIJJ KKLLMMNN OOPPQQRRJJ

Oh greenly and fair in the lands of the sunA
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon runA
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfoldB
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all goldB
Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grewC
While he waited to know that his warning was trueC
And longed for the storm cloud and listened in vainD
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire rainD
-
On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maidenA
Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine ladenA
And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to beholdB
Through orange leaves shining the broad spheres of goldB
Yet with dearer delight from his home in the NorthE
On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forthE
Where crook necks are coiling and yellow fruit shinesF
And the sun of September melts down on his vinesF
-
Ah on Thanksgiving day when from East and from WestG
From North and from South come the pilgrim and guestG
When the gray haired New Englander sees round his boardH
The old broken links of affection restoredH
When the care wearied man seeks his mother once moreI
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled beforeI
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eyeJ
What calls back the past like the rich Pumpkin pieJ
-
Oh fruit loved of boyhood the old days recallingK
When wood grapes were purpling and brown nuts were fallingK
When wild ugly faces we carved in its skinL
Glaring out through the dark with a candle withinL
When we laughed round the corn heap with hearts all in tuneM
Our chair a broad pumpkin our lantern the moonM
Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steamN
In a pumpkin shell coach with two rats for her teamN
-
Then thanks for thy present none sweeter or betterO
E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platterO
Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fineP
Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking than thineP
And the prayer which my mouth is too full to expressQ
Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be lessQ
That the days of thy lot may be lengthened belowR
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin vine growR
And thy life be as sweet and its last sunset skyJ
Golden tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pieJ

John Greenleaf Whittier



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