‘Tis pleasant on a fine spring morn
To see the buds expand,
‘Tis pleasant in the summertime
To see the fruitful land;
‘Tis pleasant on a winter’s night
To sit around the blaze,
But what are joys like these, my boys,
To merry autumn days!
We hail the merry autumn days,
When leaves are turning red;
Because they’re far more beautiful
Than anyone has said.
We hail the merry harvest time,
The gayest of the year;
The time of rich and bounteous crops,
Rejoicing and good cheer.
Solid poem, Dickens! Who knew? I like the line “what are joys like these, my boys”— reminds me of a New England prep school, as if I’d know what that’s like.
Hope you have a great Thanksgiving. If you need it, do a last minute gratitude jar with the fam.