THE MULBERRY
Within our garden walls you seeA huge old-fashioned mulberryWhose purple fruit in summer fallsInto the shade below the walls.Its blackened trunk grows grim and hardFrom the harsh gravel of the yard,Its crest beholds the winds go byAnd scans the milky evening sky.And like this tree my soul makes mirth,(Though rooted deep in blackened earth)For it shall grow till it hath sight(The walls o’er-topped) of endless light.
Within our garden walls you seeA huge old-fashioned mulberryWhose purple fruit in summer fallsInto the shade below the walls.Its blackened trunk grows grim and hardFrom the harsh gravel of the yard,Its crest beholds the winds go byAnd scans the milky evening sky.And like this tree my soul makes mirth,(Though rooted deep in blackened earth)For it shall grow till it hath sight(The walls o’er-topped) of endless light.
Within our garden walls you seeA huge old-fashioned mulberryWhose purple fruit in summer fallsInto the shade below the walls.
Its blackened trunk grows grim and hardFrom the harsh gravel of the yard,Its crest beholds the winds go byAnd scans the milky evening sky.
And like this tree my soul makes mirth,(Though rooted deep in blackened earth)For it shall grow till it hath sight(The walls o’er-topped) of endless light.