The New England Magazine, vol. 14, issue 3 (May 1893)

A MIRACLE of gleaming dyes,

     Blue, scarlet, buff and green;

0 ne'er before by mortal eyes

     Such gorgeous hues were seen!

So grandly was its plan designed,

     So cunningly 'twas built,

The whole proclaimed a master mind—

     My Aunt Jemima's quilt

 

Each friendly household far and wide

     Contributed its share;

It chronicled the country side

     In colors quaint and rare.

From belles and brides came rich brocade

    Enwrought with threads of gilt;

E'en buxom widows lent their aid

    To Aunt Jemima's quilt.

 

No tapestry from days of yore,

     No web from Orient loom,

But paled in beauteous tints before

     This strange expanse of bloom.

Here glittering stars and comets shone

     O'er flowers that never wilt;

Here fluttered birds from worlds unknown

     On Aunt Jemima's quilt.

 

0, merry was the quilting bee,

     When this great quilt was done;

The rafters rang with maiden glee,

     And hearts were lost and won.

Ne'er did a throng of braver men

     In war dash hilt to hilt,

Than sought the smiles of beauty then

     Round Aunt Jemima's quilt.

 

This work of art my aunt esteemed

     The glory of the age;

No poet's eyes have ever beamed

     More proudly o'er his page.

Were other quilt to this compared,

     Her nose would upward tilt;

Such impudence was seldom dared

     O'er Aunt Jemima's quilt.

 

Her dear old hands have gone to dust,

     That once were lithe and light;

Her needles keen arc thick with rust,

     That flashed so nimbly bright.

And here it lies by her behest,

     Stained with the tears we spilt,

Safe folded in this cedar chest —

      My Aunt Jemima's quilt.