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...FREE FANTASIA ON JAPANESE THEMES by AMY LOWELL WITH A COPY OF CALVERLEY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONNET: EUTERPE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH CHILDHOOD by JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 9: GREAT WESTERN DAYS by T. BAKER FLOATING HEARTS by GEORGE BRADFORD BARTLETT |