From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
—Algernon Charles Swinburne, The Garden of Prosperine
Wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving.
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Thanks for “turning me on” (as we used to say) to a great poem. Though, after reading it in its entirety, I have to say it’s pretty grim and so an ironic choice for Thanksgiving Day. Prosperine (aka Persephone) is the unwilling wife of Hades and so her “garden” is a place where all things die (which, of course, all things do). Hence her description of thanksgiving as “brief”.
Here’s the last stanza (the one following the one you quoted):
Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.
You might also be interested in Rosetti’s pre-Raphaelite painting of Prosperine, presumably based on Swinburne’s poem.
Yes, I knew thus was an iffy choice based on the myth behind it but I really loved the flow and rhythm of Swinburne’s words, especially in the selected verse. I also knew that the final verse, the one you display here, would be kind of a Thanksgiving Day downer. I almost used the Rosetti image but opted for my own– she just doesn’t look too thankful to me.