AGAIN the year is at the prime With flush of rose and cuckoo-croon; Care doffs his wrinkled air, and Time Foots to a gamesome tune. So, ho, my lads, an' if you will But follow underneath the hill, It's strawberries! strawberries! You shall feast, and have your fill! The elder clusters promise wine Where dips the path along the lane; The early lowing of the kine Floats in a far refrain; You will forget to dream indeed Of fruit that Georgian loam-lands breed In strawberries! strawberries! That wait for us in Martin's mead. Then haste, before the sun be high, And, haply, catch the morning star; For, ere the cups of dew be dry, The berries sweetest are. And if, perchance, a rustic lass In merriment a-milking pass, It's strawberries! strawberries! On her lips as in the grass. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLUEBELL by EMILY JANE BRONTE A VISION UPON [THIS CONCEIT] OF THE FAERIE QUEENE (1) by WALTER RALEIGH FROM THE ANTIQUE (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE DARK FOREST by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS FIVE LITTLE WANDERINGS: 4. MANHOOD by BERTON BRALEY LINES WRITTEN IN ROUSSEAU'S LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN. by GEORGE GORDON BYRON OLD VERMONT ROADS by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE LOVER FAR ON THE HILLS by EDWARD CARPENTER |