Then there were the grapes turned purple in the sun Hanging in heavy bunches close and low. These were great purple garden grapes. Not one Of the children had ever seen any but wild grapes grow. Wild-running grapes are tart and spare and small. You find the vines on big trees, clinging high To withered branches, or on the sun-facing wall Of an old farmhouse. Invariably they lie Well out of reach, and tempting, and you find Gooseberry patches near them, and you gather Berries in buckets. Here you had no mind To gather berries in buckets. Here you had rather Suck the sweet grapes out of their juicy blue Pockets and let the sun pour down on you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH LINES ON CARMEN SYLVA by EMMA LAZARUS A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN THE TOWER OF SKULLS by ISAAC ROSENBERG THEME IN YELLOW by CARL SANDBURG |