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Poem by Amy Lowell


The Tree of Scarlet Berries


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



Amy Lowell


Amy Lowell's other poems:
  1. The Bungler
  2. The Fool Errant
  3. The Boston Athenaeum
  4. The Painter on Silk
  5. The Fruit Shop


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