IN scarlet clusters o'er the gray stone-wall The barberries lean in thin autumnal air: Just when the fields and garden-plots are bare, And ere the green leaf takes the tint of fall, They come, to make the eye a festival! Along the road, for miles, their torches flare. Ah, if your deep-sea coral were but rare (The damask rose might envy it withal), What bards had sung your praises long ago, Called you fine names in honey-worded books-- The rosy tramps of turnpike and of lane, September's blushes, Ceres' lips aglow, Little Red-Ridinghoods, for your sweet looks!-- But your plebeian beauty is in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BALLAD OF WILLIAM SYCAMORE (1790-1880) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET OF THE THEME OF LOVE by MARGARET LUCAS CAVENDISH AFTER THE PLEASURE PARTY by HERMAN MELVILLE LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MRS. HEMANS by MARIA ABDY ON THE MARRIAGE OF A BEAUTEOUS YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN WITH AN ANCIENT MAN by FRANCIS BEAUMONT DISCOVERY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE ON A DREAM by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) KING VICTOR EMANUEL ENTERS FLORENCE, APRIL, 1860 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |