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| "The Tree of Scarlet Berries" |
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| 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 |