IF any sense in mortal dust remains <br />When mine has been refin'd from flower to flower, <br />Won from the sun all colours, drunk the shower <br />And delicate winy dews, and gain'd the gains <br />Which elves who sleep in airy bells, a-swing <br />Through half a summer day, for love bestow, <br />Then in some warm old garden let me grow <br />To such a perfect, lush, ambrosian thing <br />As this. Upon a southward-facing wall <br />I bask, and feel my juices dimly fed <br />And mellowing, while my bloom comes golden grey: <br />Keep the wasps from me! but before I fall <br />Pluck me, white fingers, and o'er two ripe-red <br />Girl lips O let me richly swoon away!<br /><br />Edward Dowden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-garden-vi-a-peach/
