The rain gullies the garden paths <br />And tinkles on the broad sides of grass blades. <br />A tree, at the end of my arm, is hazy with mist. <br />Even so, I can see that it has red berries, <br />A scarlet fruit, <br />Filmed over with moisture. <br />It seems as though the rain, <br />Dripping from it, <br />Should be tinged with colour. <br />I desire the berries, <br />But, in the mist, I only scratch my hand on the thorns. <br />Probably, too, they are bitter.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-tree-of-scarlet-berries/
