TO A BUNCH OF GRAPES; RIPENING IN MY WINDOW by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES

Cluster of pregnant berries, pressed
In luscious warmth together,
Like golden eggs in glassy nest,
Hatched by the zephyr's dewy breast
In sultry weather;
Or amber tears of those sad girls
Who mourn their hapless brother;
Strung closely on the glossy curls
Of you fair shrub, whose zigzag twirls
Clip one another;
Or silent swarm of golden bees
Your velvet bosoms brushing,
Dropped odorous from the gummy breeze,
Lingering in sleep upon the trees,
Whilst summer's blushing;
Or liquid sunbeams, swathed in net
Spun by some vagrant fairy,
Like mimic lamps fresh trimmed and set
In thick festoons, with ripeness wet,
Moonlight to carry;
Or drops of honey, lately stolen
From the hive's treasury,
Bubbles of light, with sweetness swollen,
Balls of bright juice, by breezes rollen,
And bandied high.
I watch with wondrous care each day
Your little spotted blushes,
Dyed by the sun's rude staring ray;
And soon I hope you'll ooze away
In sunny gushes.
Then shall ye, veiled in misty fume,
In polished urn be flowing;
With blood of nectar, soul perfume,
Breathe on our cheeks a downy bloom
With pleasure glowing.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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