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POEMS. 69
��LIV. THANKSGIVING DAY.
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 bay, Unto such, were such assembly,
'T were Thanksgiving day.
�� �
