THERE'S a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard, And the cabbages grow round it, planted for greens; In the time of my childhood 'twas terribly hard To bend down the bean-poles, and pick off the beans. That bower and its products I never forget, But oft, when my landlady presses me hard, I think, are the cabbages growing there yet, Are the bean-vines still bearing in Benjamin's yard? No, the bean-vines soon withered that once used to wave, But some beans had been gathered, the last that hung on; And a soup was distilled in a kettle, that gave All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it awfully hard; As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH: FOR A VIRGIN LADY by COUNTEE CULLEN THE DEATH OF AUTUMN by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TWO POEMS TO HANS THOMA ON HIS SIXIETH BIRTHDAY: 1. MOONLIGHT NIGHT by RAINER MARIA RILKE STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1720 by JONATHAN SWIFT THE BIRD FANCIER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |