Emily Dickinson — Thanksgiving Day

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.