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Strawberries that in gardens grow 
   Are plump and juicy fine, 
But sweeter far as wise men know 
   Spring from the woodland vine. 

No need for bowl or silver spoon, 
   Sugar or spice or cream, 
Has the wild berry plucked in June 
   Beside the trickling stream. 

One such to melt at the tongue's root, 
   Confounding taste with scent, 
Beats a full peck of garden fruit: 
   Which points my argument. 

May sudden justice overtake 
   And snap the froward pen, 
That old and palsied poets shake 
   Against the minds of men. 

Blasphemers trusting to hold caught 
   In far-flung webs of ink, 
The utmost ends of human thought 
   Till nothing's left to think. 

But may the gift of heavenly peace 
   And glory for all time 
Keep the boy Tom who tending geese 
   First made the nursery rhyme. 

Added: 7 Apr 2002 | Last Read: 8 Jun 2025 2:09 AM | Viewed: 8040 times

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