Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GATHERING BLACKBERRIES, by PHOEBE CARY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GATHERING BLACKBERRIES, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Little daisy smiling wakes
Last Line: For this maiden's soul!
Subject(s): Blackberries


LITTLE Daisy smiling wakes
From her sleep as morning breaks,
Why, she knoweth well;
Yet if you should ask her, surely
She would answer you demurely,
That she cannot tell.

Careful Daisy, with no sound,
Slips her white feet to the ground,
Saying, very low,
She must rise and help her mother,
And be ready, if her brother
Needs her aid, to go!

Foolish Daisy, o'er her lips
Only that poor falsehood slips,
Truth is in her cheeks;
Her own words cannot deceive her,
Her own heart will not believe her
In a blush it speaks.

Daisy knows that, when the heat
Dries the dew upon the wheat,
She will be away;
She and Ernest, just another
Who, she says, is like a brother,
Making holiday.

For the blackberries to-day
Will be ripe, the reapers say,
Ripe as they can be;
And not wholly for the pleasure,
But lest others find the treasure,
She must go and see.

Eager Daisy, at the gate
Meeting Ernest, scarce can wait,
But she checks her heart;
And she says, her soft eyes beaming
With an innocent, grave seeming;
"Is it time to start?"

Cunning Daisy tries to go
Very womanly and slow,
And to act so well
That, if any one had seen them,
With the dusty road between them,
What was there to tell?

Happy Daisy, when they gain
The green windings of the lane,
Where the hedge is thick;
For they find, beneath its shadow,
Wild sweet roses in the meadow,
More than they can pick.

Bending low, and rising higher,
Scarlet pinks their lamps of fire
Lightly swing about;
And the wind that blows them over
Out of sight among the clover,
Seems to blow them out!

Doubting Daisy, as she hies
Toward the field of berries, cries:
"What if they be red?"
Black and ripe they find them rather,
Black and ripe enough to gather,
As the reapers said.

Lucky Daisy, Ernest finds
Berries for her in the vines,
Hidden where she stands;
And with fearless arm he pushes
Back the cruel, briery bushes,
That would hurt her hands.

He would have her hold her cup
Just for him to fill it up,
But away she trips;
Picking daintily, she lingers
Till she dyes her pretty fingers
Redder than her lips.

Thoughtful Daisy, what she hears,
What she hopes, or what she fears,
Who of us can tell?
For if, going home, she carries
Richer treasure than her berries,
She will guard it well!

Puzzled Daisy does not know
Why the sun, who rises slow,
Hurries overhead;
He, that lingered at the morning,
Drops at night with scarce a warning
On his cloudy bed.

All too narrow at the start
Seemed the path, they kept apart,
Though the way was rough;
Now the path, that through the hollow
Closely side by side they follow,
Seemeth wide enough.

Hopeful Daisy, will the days
That are brightening to her gaze
Brighter grow than this?
Will she, mornings without number,
Wake up restless from her slumber,
Just for happiness?

Will the friend so kind to-day,
Always push the thorns away,
With which earth is rife?
Will he be her true, true lover,
Will he make her cup run over
With the wine of life?

Blessed Daisy, will she be,
If above mortality
Thus she stands apart;
Cursed, if the hand, unsparing,
Let the thorns fly backward, tearing
All her bleeding heart!

Periled Daisy, none can know
What the future has to show;
There must come what must;
But, if blessings be forbidden,
Let the truth awhile be hidden --
Let her hope and trust.

Let all women born to weep,
Their heart's breaking -- all who keep
Hearts still young and whole,
Pray, as fearing no denying,
Pray with me, as for the dying,
For this maiden's soul!





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