Explore "For an Autumn Festival" by John Greenleaf Whittier on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine Of fruitful Ceres, charm no more; The woven wreaths of oak and pine Are dust along the Isthmian shore.
But beauty hath its homage still, And nature holds us still in debt; And woman's grace and household skill, And manhood's toil, are honored yet.