Snowstorm

The Snowstorm  Francisco DeGoya

It sifts from Leaden Sieves

by Emily Dickinson

It sifts from Leaden Sieves —

It powders all the Wood.

It fills with Alabaster Wool

The Wrinkles of the Road —

It makes an Even Face

Of Mountain, and of Plain —

Unbroken Forehead from the East

Unto the East again —

It reaches to the Fence —

It wraps it Rail by Rail

Till it is lost in Fleeces —

It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack - and Stem —

A Summer’s empty Room —

Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,

Recordless, but for them —

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts

As Ankles of a Queen —

Then stills its Artisans — like Ghosts —

Denying they have been —

A Romp After the Harvest is In

Dance of the Majos at  the Banks of Manzanar  Francisco DeGoya

Harvest-Home 
                      Old English Song

Come, Roger and Nell,
Come, Simpkin and Bell,
Each lad with his lass hither come;
With singing and dancing,
And pleasure advancing,
To celebrate harvest-home!

Our labour is o'er,
Our barns, in full store,
Now swell with rich gifts of the land;
Let each man then take,
For the prong and the rake,
His can and his lass in his hand.

No courtier can be
So happy as we,
In innocence, pastime, and mirth;
While thus we carouse,
With our sweetheart or spouse,
And rejoice o'er the fruits of the earth.

Chorus
'Tis Ceres bids play,
And keep holiday,
To celebrate harvest-home!
Harvest-home! Harvest-home!
To celebrate harvest-home!