Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Beneath the twilight sky, a golden orb ascends,
The Harvest Moon golden light it sends.
Its warm embrace lights up the night,
A symbol of abundance, a season's delight.
A bountiful harvest, nature's grandest feat,
Fields ablaze, with grains so rich and sweet.
The moon's golden glow, a beacon of grace,
With thanksgiving, this season, we embrace.
In this season we let hope arise,
As Harvest Moon adorns autumn's skies.
Embrace the abundance, let gratitude flow,
The Harvest Moon is nature's gift bestowed.
Thanksgiving Poems
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
In the golden glow of the harvest moon,
The fields come alive, adorned like a silver spoon.
As nature's bounty is reaped with joy,
We gather the fruits of our year-long toil.
In the stillness of the autumn night,
The moon shines bright, casting a tranquil light.
The air is crisp, with a hint of chill,
Yet our hearts are warmed by this sacred thrill.
The harvest moon, a symbol of abundance,
Reflects the cycles of nature's dance.
It illuminates the earth with gentle grace,
Inviting us to embrace this sacred space.
Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind,
As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves;
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
Nature Poems
Poet: Carl Sandburg
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
As the harvest moon rises high in the sky,
A radiant brilliance to catch our eye.
We celebrate the fruits of our labor,
With gratitude for our neighbor and savour.
In this mystical lunar illumination,
We find solace in nature's revelation.
The harvest moon whispers secrets untold,
Of transformation and stories of old.
So let us rejoice in this harvest moon,
With grateful hearts, our spirits attune.
For in its glow, we find unity,
And honor the cycle of life's opportunity.
Moon Quotes
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
The Harvest Moon appears larger, a grand optical guise,
A beacon of hope that lights up the skies.
In this golden glow, labor's burdens ease,
A symphony of harvest whispers on the breeze.
Oh, Harvest Moon, inspire our hearts anew,
A symbol of unity and dreams pursued.
With gratitude, we honor God for this blessed light,
Guiding us forward, in harvest's delight.
Christian Poems
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
When twilight hues embrace the fading light,
The Harvest Moon emerges, bold and bright.
A timely gift, rising early in the eve,
A celestial guide, so all may believe.
Its glow illuminates fields far and wide,
A gentle companion for those toiling beside.
With extended light, laborers find reprieve,
Harvest Moon's radiance, a bonus they receive.
Poems About The Moon
Poet: Ted Hughes
The flame-red moon, the harvest moon,
Rolls along the hills, gently bouncing,
A vast balloon,
Till it takes off, and sinks upward
To lie on the bottom of the sky, like a gold doubloon.
The harvest moon has come,
Booming softly through heaven, like a bassoon.
And the earth replies all night, like a deep drum.
So people can't sleep,
So they go out where elms and oak trees keep
A kneeling vigil, in a religious hush.
The harvest moon has come!
And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep
Stare up at her petrified, while she swells
Filling heaven, as if red hot, and sailing
Closer and closer like the end of the world.
Till the gold fields of stiff wheat
Cry "We are ripe, reap us!" and the rivers
Sweat from the melting hills.
