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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.