Strawberries that in gardens grow <br />Are plump and juicy fine, <br />But sweeter far as wise men know <br />Spring from the woodland vine. <br /> <br />No need for bowl or silver spoon, <br />Sugar or spice or cream, <br />Has the wild berry plucked in June <br />Beside the trickling stream. <br /> <br />One such to melt at the tongue's root, <br />Confounding taste with scent, <br />Beats a full peck of garden fruit: <br />Which points my argument. <br /> <br />May sudden justice overtake <br />And snap the froward pen, <br />That old and palsied poets shake <br />Against the minds of men. <br /> <br />Blasphemers trusting to hold caught <br />In far-flung webs of ink, <br />The utmost ends of human thought <br />Till nothing's left to think. <br /> <br />But may the gift of heavenly peace <br />And glory for all time <br />Keep the boy Tom who tending geese <br />First made the nursery rhyme.<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wild-strawberries/
