He has picked grapes in the sun. Oh it seems <br />Like a fairy tale, <br />Like a tale of dreams. <br />'He in his slender youth, with vines, with sun, <br />Under a blazing sky'— <br />The tale might run. <br />There's beauty for eye and mind, for sight and thought, <br />Here on the surface. <br />Plunge. This beauty's nought. <br />Vision succeeds to dream. Deep in his heart <br />Fierier beauty lives <br />Than this surface art. <br />He has no song to sing of fragrant soil <br />Who in his heart revolts <br />At unlovely toil. <br />He has known the real, the truth of it. It seems <br />Misery eats the heart <br />Out of fairest dreams. <br />He in his slender youth, at strife, in vain <br />Offers his life to set <br />The world right again.<br /><br />Lesbia Harford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-has-picked-grapes-in-the-sun/
