Explore "The New Year. Rosh-Hashanah, 5643" by Emma Lazarus on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Not while the snow-shroud round dead earth is rolled, / And naked branches point to frozen skies, -- / When orchards burn their lamps of fiery gold, / The grape glows like a jewel, and the corn / A sea of beauty and abundance lies, / Then the new year is born.
Look where the mother of the months uplifts / In the green clearness of the unsunned West, / Her ivory horn of plenty, dropping gifts, / Cool, harvest-feeding dews, fine-winnowed light; / Tired labor with fruition, joy and rest / Profusely to requite.